Every Me Every You
by drummore
Summary: Waffle based around Flack and Angell...I just like 'em
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer (not necessarily in order):

1) I'm not a writer

2) I own nothing

3) I'm dabbling in fiction for the first time and therefore have no idea if this will come to an abrupt halt or continue

4) Despite living in the North East, my American-English is dreadful

5) There is no particular timezone or concept of time

6) My French is limited to 3rd year girl's grammar school

**EVERY ME/EVERY YOU**

_I've been biding my days  
You see evidently it pays  
I've been a friend  
With unbiased views  
Then secretly lust after you_

_Skunk Anansie – Secretly_

It'd all begun when he'd used the '…I'm sure the boys knew you existed' line. He hadn't actually meant it as a _line_; it was just the sort of thing that seemed to roll naturally from his tongue.

He'd known she existed from the day she walked into his precinct; a couple of uniforms were hauling in a smart looking Quebecois who was shouting his mouth off after a few too many Grey Goose's at his business lunch. To this day he had no idea what Detective Angell had shouted back but still pegged it as one of the sexiest things he'd ever heard.

For the most part, she'd seemed to barely tolerate him; rolling her eyes at his jokes, laughing at him when he turned on the charm and giving away only the bare essentials. He'd known all the basics about her of course; that she'd transferred to homicide from vice, that she'd joined the force a couple of years after he did, that the Angell family had 'cop' running through their blood and that virtually every guy in the 1PP thought her as the hottest piece of work ever to walk through the door. That morning in the Sedan though she'd laughed, teasing him gently and telling him she thought his line was 'pretty good'.

Since her arrival he'd routinely asked her out, in (semi) jest, and while she'd laughed as she told him "Only in your wildest dreams Flack", it at least meant she spoke to him, which he'd seen as better than nothing. As they'd clocked out together a few nights after wrapping up the Michael Bentley case, he'd asked her again. She'd smirked a little but nodded, "Yeah sure, beer sounds good Flack".

Beer had turned into a 2am Lebanese dinner and he'd finally seen a glimpse of the real Jess Angell. Over beef kabobs, falafel and grilled prawns, he'd learned she'd attended an all-girls school, was a mean skier, spoke enough French to get by, was a confirmed meat lover and had modeled, very briefly, before joining the force.

As he'd walked her home he'd tried some of his actual _lines_ and instead of brutally knocking him down, she'd laughed (a lot) and kissed him softly. She'd invited him upstairs and into her bedroom.

It was like the narcotics guys said – it just took one hit to be addicted…

o-o-o

He dozed contently, exhausted from sex and the ease of having Jess in his arms. Comfortably nestling her head under his chin, he pulled her lithe body along the length of his and enjoyed the rhythmic warmth of her breath on his chest. His fingers trailed a path along the small of her back and, as he pressed his lips gently against her temple, mumbled "Night Jess".

She waited until she was sure he was asleep before slipping from his bed. The signs were easy to recognize, he let out a few low puffs of breath and his calf twitched, then his breathing grew slower and his embrace loosened. After dressing silently she watched him sleep for a few moments, smiling wistfully she mused that he looked so much younger as he slept, the responsibility and worries dispelling as his head hit the pillow. She drew the comforter around his shoulders and brushed a kiss to his forehead, "Night Don".

He didn't know why she so rarely stayed the night. Sure they'd agreed to keep it casual; sex when they wanted, dinner if it suited with no commitment or expectation. The way she slunk into the night rattled him though as he liked the idea of waking up next to her more often, watching her dress and cooking her breakfast.

Leaning against the Sedan, he sipped his coffee as he basked in the morning sun. He'd worked backwards through her schedule; she was usually at her desk a minimum of fifteen minutes before clocking on time, she invariably arrived with a cup of coffee he knew to come from a café a block away from the Precinct, the subway ride took twenty five minutes, her apartment was ten minutes from the subway and he built in a little leeway. She finally emerged from the building, effortlessly cool as always. Pausing on the entrance steps, she raised an eyebrow in suspicious question, "Did I leave something at your place?"

He shook his head playfully, squinting against the sun, "Just thought you might like coffee, and maybe a lift?"

"What happens if I've already had coffee?" she queried, crinkling her nose in the adorable way she did.

After a little thought he shrugged casually, "I suppose there's always the lift then".

They held each other's gaze momentarily before she sighed and strode towards him, reaching for the coffee cup on the Sedan roof. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her flush against him, before slipping his arm around her waist. His other hand rested on the nape her neck, pulling her lips to his. The kiss was sweet and tender; she felt his lips smiling against hers and tasted the vanilla of his latte. She felt herself relax in the embrace of his body, not pull away as she so often did. He could smell the scent of tropical shampoo in her hair, the soft floral fragrance of her perfume. As she pulled away a little she caught his eye, registering the flash of disappointment. Laying her palm warmly on his cheek she stretched up, brushing her lips across his before nestling back into his embrace, "Merci du café, ma puce".


	2. Chapter 2

_Same old moves, for a new romance_

_I could use the same old lines, but I'll sing_

_Shine on, just shine on_

_James Blunt – Shine on_

"For your information", he'd crowed, "I'm very good".

She'd lifted her head from where it rested on his chest, just enough to see his face. His cheeks had been flushed and his hair ruffled. The room had been lit only by the city lights creeping through the blinds but they'd illuminated him seamlessly; the leanness of his body, the tan line low on his waist, the creases around his eyes when he smiled.

"Honestly Jess, I'm a good date! Dinner, dancing…" he'd pushed, a little more seriously.

She'd untangled herself from his embrace, leaning back on the headboard and regarding him intently. "You want us to go on a 'date'?" she'd asked dubiously, "A heels, dinner, awkward moment at the end of the night type 'date'?"

Shifting to lean back next to her he'd nodded, less confidently than before, "Uh huh".

Then there had been silence; he hadn't been sure for how long, just that she'd watched him as she processed the suggestion. "Come on Jess, you'll sleep with me but you won't have dinner with me?!" He'd been about to give up; to shake his head in defeat and roll out of bed when she'd stretched over to kiss him.

"I _do_ like dancing" she'd grinned, "I'd like to go out with you Don…on a date".

o-o-o

Leaning against the bar he looked at his watch, grinning and his shaking his head a little. He was yet to wholly work out 'girl time' and why women always seemed to feel the need to run late for dates. He usually took first dates to one of two faithful restaurants but had doubted either was quite right for dinner with Jess. After musing the situation at length, he'd turned to his most reliable source of advice; his eldest sister-in-law Kate. Graham had met Kate just before their Mother died and married her soon after, as well as growing to be a close friend, she'd become both a strong maternal and sororal influence in his life.

Taking a long drag of beer, he watched her move through the crowd; grey drape jersey dress hugging her in all the right places, dark hair curled loosely around her shoulders, delicate silver drop ear-rings brushing her slender neck.

While his lips and tongue had explored every part of her body, he'd never seen her dressed in anything other than her work wardrobe. As she sashayed towards him he'd decided, unaware that his mouth was dropping in wonder, she was definitely worth the wait; effortlessly beautiful and sexy, stunning and hot.

Placing one hand on his chest she used a fingertip to close his gaping mouth, clearly highly amused by his expression, before stretching to brush her lips to his cheek, "Hello Don".

She swung their hands playfully as they walked, "So Donald, where _are_ we having dinner?"

"So Jessica" he stopped in front of her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and kissing her gently, "Just a little place I know".

The building they halted at was set back from the street; a narrow Victorian brick structure, only two stories high with a pair of arched entrances dominating the ground level. "It's a firehouse!" she stated, incredulously. Laughing mischievously, he quipped "I always said you were one hell of a detective Jess". Pausing to sweetly graze the tip of nose with his fingertip, he tugged her inside, watching her expression change from confusion to delight.

The appliance bay was now gallery space, currently exhibiting an eclectic mix of neon light sculpture. She beamed as he handed her a glass of champagne, gripping his hand tightly as he lead her past a wall of neon lit glass sconces and group of quirky light sticks. "Wow Don!" she exclaimed softly, "This is amazing!" She drew out 'amazing', elongating the middle vowel.

He watched her gaze at the colors sweep through a long twisted neon tube, unable to stop his hand from reaching out to twirl one of the soft curls in her hair between his fingers. Slipping his arms around her waist, he pulled her flush against his chest, breathing in the heady fragrance of her perfume and own unique scent. Peering over her shoulder, he traced his thumb along the deep V neckline of her dress, allowing a finger to dip beneath the fabric to caress the swell of her breast. "Hey", she elbowed him teasingly, "I don't do _that _sort of thing on the first date". Groaning he dropped his hand back to her waist, placing a lingering kiss in the dip of her collar bone, "Come on, let's go eat".

The first floor former bunk room was the highlight of the firehouse; exposed brickwork, high ceilings with dramatic lighting and the original fire pole in the corner. Jazzy music played softly and an intimate table-for-two sat under one of the vast windows. She gasped, "Oh Don", snaking her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. As he led her to the table he was sure she let out an uncharacteristic girlish squeak of excitement and silently thanked his sister-in-law.

o-o-o

Earlier that week he'd sat at Graham and Kate's kitchen table, contently coloring with his youngest niece, four year old Jenna, and watching his sister-in-law expertly flip cookies from their baking sheet.

In between Jenna's chatter and the round up of family events, Kate worked through her usual list of questions; how was work, was he eating properly, was he staying out of mischief and did he have any girls on the go.

"I'm meant to be taking a girl for dinner later in the week actually"

"The Big Blue?" she asked knowingly, his usual first date restaurant. As he shook his head, she grinned, "Oh, Fiore! The big guns!"

Laughing a little thoughtfully he shook his head again, "That's the thing Kate; she's not really a Big Blue/Fiore girl. I need somewhere …different".

She'd known Don for over fifteen years and could count the number of times he'd asked for dating advice on one hand. He often bragged or lamented about girls, but rarely sought advice and was never as coy as he was about his about his forthcoming dinner date. Even after a family worth of questions over dinner about his secret date, he remained tight lipped.

As he returned to the kitchen after carrying out one his favorite avuncular duties, putting his nieces to bed, he found Graham loading crockery into the dishwasher and Kate working at her laptop.

Kate had had a glittering legal career on Wall Street but following the birth of their eldest daughter Sophie, had settled comfortably into a career as a stay home Mom. When money grew tight, she'd accepted a part time position with an events company taking care of contracts. Ten years later she'd discovered a new vocation, becoming a director of the firm and managing a strong portfolio of event locations.

She patted the seat next to hers and pointed to the laptop screen, "I've found the perfect place for you Don. It and my favorite caterer can be yours, in exchange for a night's babysitting".

O-o-o

He grinned in contentment as he watched her savor the last spoonful of dessert, when she caught his eye she blushed, shyly returning his smile. The conversation over dinner had been easy, just as it always was; a mixture of current events, hopes and dreams, precinct gossip and tales from their past. As the caterer replaced dessert with coffee and brandy, the lights dimmed and music changed. Fingering the tattoo around her wrist, he leant over to kiss her; capturing her lips with his, enjoying the taste of raspberry, chocolate and brandy on her tongue. Standing, he held his hand out to her, "Dance with me Jess?"

He rarely danced, usually seeing it as an arduous activity for weddings and special occasions but with Jess it was different. Dancing with Jess was an excuse to hold her in his arms, to watch the curve of her body, to croon whispered words of reverence. As he moved her around the floor, she leant into him, sighing happily and resting her head on his shoulder. "You know Don, you're right. You're actually a pretty good date".


	3. Chapter 3

**_Disclaimer/Observations (not necessarily in any specific order):_**

**_1) I doubt Mme Gordon, my second year French teacher, would be proud_**

**_2) I owe nothing_**

**_3) Goldfrapp is obnoxiously addictive - apologies if you spent the next day Ooh-la-la-ing (I certainly have been)_**

**_4) I'm a Microsoft gal, OpenOffice is like foreign language to me_**

**_5) Thank you all the lovely people who actually read this (I should be writing a terribly dull technical paper for work but FA are providing a marvellous displacement activity)_**

**_6) How hot is Flack?!! Nomnomnom :)_**

_Switch me up_

_Turn me on_

_I want to touch you_

_You're just made for love_

_I need la la la la la la_

_I need ooh la la la la_

_Goldfrapp – Ooh La La_

Flying was one of the things in life that he truly loathed; all the waiting around before hand, having to remove his shoes at security and walk on a filthy floor, being crammed into a tiny seat which crushed his legs. Even the thought of air travel lowered his mood, changed him from amenable and laid back to testy and sullen.

She'd groaned, shaking her head in despair; arguing that a flight meant the start of a great adventure or the sweetness of coming home, that airports were prime people watching territory and a source of endless entertainment. He'd relented a little, conceding that a flight to the Keys to lie in the sun for a few days with her might be okay, but a flight to Chicago to babysit Mac Taylor was certainly not.

When she'd called him the day he was scheduled to arrive back, suggesting they catch a late dinner, he'd enthusiastically agreed. She didn't often suggest going out; it wasn't that she played hard to get, just that she had a healthy social calendar and still saw their relationship a little more on the 'no strings attached' side than he'd like. The aircraft had been sitting at the gate when the flight attendant announced the delay; he'd sighed, taking out his cell to call her and apologize. He heard the smile and understanding in her voice as she soothed, "Sure Don, don't worry about it". He knew he should be grateful; his erratic work schedule had been the bone of contention plenty of times before but couldn't hold back his surly mood, snipping "Yeah no worries Jess, sure you've plenty of others guys to have dinner with".

He knew arriving at her apartment late at night and unannounced wasn't part of their deal, especially considering his outburst earlier in the day but he'd taken a chance. Slipping in behind a late night delivery boy, he'd knocked softly on her door, mostly expecting to be hailing a cab within a few minutes. He'd heard the footsteps and then a pause as she peered through the peep hole before the door opened. Seeing her stand there, sleepily, in faded t-shirt and garish Hawaiian print pajama shorts had instantly lifted his mood. Smirking through the yawn, she'd cocked her head a little, "Back from Chicago then Flack?"

o-o-o

He leant against the counter top, sweat pants slung low on his hips, watching the rain batter against the window pane.

His watch lay on her dresser and the dark sky made it difficult to assess the time but the dull rumble of his stomach made him guess it was still before six. Idly he tried to speculate the contents of her fridge, debating whether he could make breakfast or whether he'd suggest eating at Café King before their shift.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that her arms slipping comfortably around his middle startled him. "Bonjour ma crotte" she mumbled against his back, hands gently rubbing over his toned stomach before letting her fingers rest under the waistband of his sweats. He stood for a few moments, enjoying the sensation of their bodies being separated only by the shirt of his that she wore. Turning in her arms he smoothed her tousled hair, tilting her chin up towards him to steal a sweet gentle kiss, "Mornin' Jess".

Her warm body leant closer into his as she yawned and stretched, a hand teasingly patting his rear. Her lips found his, roughly this time, with a deep hunger. His hands tangled in her hair, swept across her body; her arms snaked around his neck, finger stroking the sensitive patch behind his ear. As one hand skimmed across the fine cotton of her panties, his thumb tracing the path of the lace trim, she moaned into his mouth.

With one hand clamped firmly to her waist he stepped back, drinking her in, "Christ Jess, you're beautiful". Her cheeks flushed at his words and her hand reached to tenderly stroke his prickly cheek. As he dipped to kiss her again, she murmured against his lips, "Tu es la seule". He intended the kiss to be deep and full of lust but her words threw him, instead kissing her sweetly and gently.

He'd only recently discovered that "…speak enough [French] to get by", really meant "...my Mother was French and I guess I'm bilingual". He adored when she spoke to him in her Mother tongue, although he had no idea what she said to him it drove him crazy, in the very best way. These words were different though; the usual teasing tone was gone and replaced with an almost distant softness.

His brow creased a little in expectation of a translation, his thumb rubbing small circles on her hip. She stretched up, distracting him by grazing his lips with hers. He opened his mouth to protest but she pressed a finger against his lips, grinning slyly.

Stepping back to the opposite row of cabinets, her fingers worked tantalizingly slowly to free the few buttons that held his shirt together. Casually shrugging the garment from her shoulders, she let it pool on the ground at her feet; revealing herself to him, oozing confidence and allure. He moved to step towards her but she raised an eyebrow in reprimand. As she slipped fingers into her panties his eyes widened and breath caught, watching her slide them down her long dusty golden legs and unceremoniously drop them at his feet. She leant back against the counter top, cocking her hip and sending him a knowing smirk.

He rubbed a palm over his jaw, exhaling a long breath before stepping forward.

His tongue burned trails across her skin. She tasted herself on his lips.

She begged for release as he kissed and nipped. His body shuddered with desire when she touched him.

His eyes grew dark with hunger as he pushed into her. She whimpered and cried out his name as he stroked firmly in, and languidly out again; her legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him in deeper.

As they stood tangled, skin slick and spent, they continued to explore. Her finger trailed back and forth across the bridge of his nose, his finger traced the pattern of the tattoo on her hip. Their breathing synchronized and slowed, their bodies melted into one.

"Tu es la seule" she mumbled.

He groaned, laughing gently, "In English Jess…in English".

Pulling back a little, she cupped his chin in her hand, "You're the only one Don." He frowned a little, confused by the statement, but she continued "I'm not having dinner, or _anything else_, with other guys, you're the only one".


	4. Chapter 4

_Something is happening_

_And it started happening when you walked by_

_Something is happening_

_And it's changing everything, do you know why?_

_Herman's Hermits – Something Is Happening_

His fondness for food preceded him, almost as much as his reputation did.

So many of his memories involved food; the corned beef his Mother had served on Wednesdays, the hot dogs his Father always bought at the game, family barbeques in his brother's back yard, the steak he always ordered in Prego. For the most part though, providing meals were regular and in generous portions, he was happy.

He was frequently irritated by women and their relationship with food; it drove him mad, they way they picked at salad instead of eating a proper square meal or complained of being fat before wolfing down a candy bar. Jess however, was a woman who knew how to 'chow down'.

When she'd first arrived at the Precinct he put her down as yet another skinny obsessed girl but, after a few weeks of sharing her bed, realized that she was almost as fond of food as he was. While she was careful about what she ate, it was more a choice of quality rather than quantity. She always ordered dessert when they ate out, groused if she missed lunch and welcomed whatever dish he served up in the morning.

She'd offered to take him for dinner on the way home from the Precinct but he'd grimaced, shaking his head. "Seriously Jess, it was _nasty_," he'd lamented as they walked through the parking lot, "I might never eat again!"

Laughing, she'd joked "That'll be the day Flack", before suggesting take-out from his favorite Italian deli. His stomach had heaved more than a little at the prospect of fast food and he'd felt the color drain from his face.

She'd frowned, about to comment when he'd continued, "I saw rat, I saw blood, I saw snot…I swear, I feel violated!"

Rubbing a gentle hand over his belly she'd chuckled kindly, "You're such a baby!"

o-o-o

He always enjoyed spending time at her apartment; decorated in relaxing shades of brown and blue it was airy and cool. The furnishings were soft and comfortable, the fridge was well stocked and she was always more laid back with her own things around. As they walked through the door she steered him into the bedroom, hanging up his jacket before pushing him towards the bathroom, "Shower Flack, it'll make you feel better. I'll see what I can do about dinner".

She was right; as the water flowed over his body he began to feel a little better, although wasn't clear if it was the actual act of cleansing or just the indulgence of using her shampoo. As he stood, absentmindedly trying to decide if his skin was 'positively radiant' like the shower gel promised, he couldn't be sure if a figure lurked in the doorway or if it was just the light. Finding a neatly folded fluffy towel when he stepped out of the cubicle and then jeans and a t-shirt, left over from a previous sleepover, lying freshly laundered on the bed only further accelerated his recovery.

Pulling the t-shirt over his damp hair, he padded into the next room; an airy open plan living room with a narrow galley kitchen on one wall. He'd poked around the kitchen as he waited for coffee to brew and knew it was well stocked, with appliances and gadgets as well as ingredients. He'd thumbed through the row of recipe books that sat neatly on a low shelf, impressed by the variety. While he didn't see her as the type of girl to spend money on a kitchen for show, making coffee and reheating take-out had been the limit of culinary skills she'd exhibited over the months. If they ate in, she either called to place an order or cheerfully tucked into his cooking (which extended to most variations of 'breakfast'). It came as a surprise therefore, to see her move around the kitchen with poise and ease; slicing and stirring, producing delicious aromas.

"You're cooking" he stated, a little dubiously.

She didn't move from the stove, just threw a knowing look over her shoulder, retorting "Nice work detective!"

Moving to hover behind her, he surveyed the scene; something roasted in the oven and risotto simmered in a low pot, two places had been set at the counter and chips had been poured into a bowl. As she reached into a cupboard overhead and began methodically removing packets, he leant back on the counter to observe with intrigue.

She continued with her project, allowing him to watch her every move, until the chocolate batter was transferred to a pan and then the oven. Reaching into the fridge she turned, handing him a bottle and smiling sweetly, "Could you open the wine please Don?" She brushed his lips with hers as he nodded, wordlessly.

As she served up steaming platefuls of pumpkin risotto he wasn't surprised to feel his stomach rumble in appreciation. He couldn't recall many times he'd actually missed a meal; even on waking from the bomb blast coma, his nurse claimed his first mumbled words were to ask for a meatloaf dinner. He was grateful however that she opted for a meat-free meal; he hadn't forgotten the images of the day _that_ quickly.

She didn't really try to hide the eyebrow she raised in amusement when he accepted a second helping. But, as she positioned a knife over the brownie pan, couldn't hold back guffawing as he growled in disgust at the portion size, "Jess, I'm a growing boy!"

"Appetite back then?" she asked, cutting a more generous slice.

"Yup" he came back, the tips of his ears pinking but nodding happily, "Appetite back".


	5. Chapter 5

_Like a warm drink it seeps into my soul_

_Please just leave me right here on my own_

_Later on you could spend some time with me_

_If you want to, all at sea_

_Jamie Cullen – All at Sea  
_

Although he'd suggested Irish coffee, they'd found themselves in a familiar bar drinking just Irish.

In a funk over the Danny situation, he'd spent the first few rounds of Jameson glum and murky. She'd listened attentively as he recounted his side of the saga; Danny, Lindsay, Danny skipping work, his suspicions that Danny had perhaps cheated on Lindsay, Rikki and Ruben Sandoval and Ollie Barnes. Shaking his head and tiredly protesting "He's my friend Jess but I've still got responsibilities. It's like a rock and a hard place!"

Nodding sympathetically she'd periodically interjected, as a friend then a colleague, with words of agreement and advice. "You did the right thing today Don, we'd all have done the same. Danny will get over it, it'll take time but he'll get there".

They'd drunk in thoughtful silence.

"It's hard to loose someone. After my Mom died, I didn't ever think things would be okay again but…" she'd started then shrugged, almost embarrassed by her revelation. Lacing his fingers through hers, he'd gently probed "How old were you?'

"Eight. She was driving me to my soccer game after school and a truck hit us. I don't remember much about it; just crying out for her and it starting to rain". Her bottom lip quivered a little and he'd pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple, "Just a little kid huh? I'm sorry Jess".

It wasn't often that she spoke so candidly, the alcohol loosening her tongue. She'd leant into him, watching as the bartender refilled their glasses. "I was fifteen and it was cancer. We knew it was going to happen but still...I _really _miss her".

She'd known he was referring to his Mother. He kept a photograph on his dresser; a tall dark haired woman tightly embracing a small boy, of around five or six, at a ball park. Despite the young age of the boy, the dimples and eyes were unequivocally those of Don Flack.

Originally taking him to be just another stubborn, arrogant cop, it'd always fascinated her to discover another of his layers. He had both boyish charm and fiery passion. He stayed close to his family and a tight group of friends but was out going enough to find common ground with most. Usually so sure of himself, he sometimes wavered and craved assurance. He looked up to the intelligence of the crime lab but wasn't as dumb as he sometimes made out, reading fervently and soaking up information like a sponge.

She'd watched him swirl the amber liquid round the glass, fading from tough detective to weary young man. Rubbing small, comforting circles on his back, soothing "I'm sorry too Don".

They'd drunk in amiable silence until he'd grinned slyly; breaking the melancholy, "So tell me about this girl's school you went to. There were uniforms, right?!"

o-o-o

She sat astride him in his favorite easy chair, skin glistening and gloriously naked save for his tie that hung loosely around her neck. With his hands planted firmly around her hips, he crooned along with the radio, words slurred from the whiskey. "You're a terrible singer Flack!" she scoffed, gently stroking the stubble on his jaw.

He scowled, mockingly, as she giggled; tickling him, then teasing him with kisses. Writhing against her touch he laughed out loud, grabbing her hands to restrain her. Lazily trailing his lips along her forearm, he halted at her wrist, "What's the deal with all this Jess?"

Leaning forward, her lips grazed his shoulders, temporarily distracting his questioning, "What's the deal with all this Jess, what?"

"With this", he lifted her wrist to his lips.

"And this", he fingered a delicate patch on her hip.

"And this", he dipped his head to kiss her side; allowing his lips to trail back across the swell of her breast, his tongue pausing to tease the puckered nipple, and then continue up her sternum before coming to rest in the hollow of her throat.

Shivering at his touch, she moved closer to his body, snaking her arms around his neck. He rested his forehead against hers relishing the intimacy, before adopting his most serious tone and pressing "Well?" She leant back, regarding him for a moment before jeering, "Your cop voice isn't going work with me buddy!"

He narrowed his eyes, in one last attempt, before pouting, "Okay, what's the deal with all this Jess, _please_?" Brushing her lips to his she chided, "Better".

"This one", she held up her wrist, "is the same as my favorite bracelet. It was my Mom's, and my Grandmother's before that. It's too precious to wear all the time so I have this one instead"

"Good thinking Detective", his hands gently turned her wrist over so he could fully examine the ink, although he'd done it countless times before.

"This one", she leant back exposing the small bird on her hip, "is a homing pigeon. So no matter where I end up, I always make back it home".

Rubbing his thumb over the bird, he echoed, "A pigeon?"

"Oui, un pigeon voyageur" she blushed, "I was maybe a bit crazy with that one. I was young though!"

"Un pigeon voyageur" he stumbled softly, "I think it's cute". Laughing she kissed him, murmuring "We might need to work on your French".

"And this one," she twisted a little to display the full extent of the intricate Mehndi design that swirled across her ribcage and ended just under her breast. "This one is my favorite" he nodded deviously, dipping to languorously cover the area with his lips.

"I'd never have guessed" she retorted dryly but moaning in pleasure at his touch. "I saw women with the designs when I was India, they were amazing; so beautiful", she beamed dreamily at the memories. "My Dad flipped at the wrist though, so, I went for somewhere a bit more _discrete_ for this one".

He snorted, thinking out loud "If your old man was pissed at a tat, I'd hate to hear what he'd say about you dating a cop".

"What's to say my old man doesn't already know that I'm dating a cop?!"

Her words sobered and surprised him. They went on dates, they slept together, they had a change of clothes and toothbrush at each other's apartment, she'd told him there wasn't anyone else and he knew there weren't any other women but they had yet to define the 'arrangement'. He hoped that they were 'dating' but as she always seemed a little detached, couldn't be sure.

Her cheeks flushed and she began to hastily clamber from his lap. "I just thought…sorry! I think it'd be best if I headed home now".

Grabbing her wrists, he pulling her back roughly, staring at her a little open mouthed. Her cheeks continued to burn and she wrapped her arms around her body awkwardly, shielding her nakedness.

He began to fight a wide grin as he nodded "We're dating Jess," before letting it take control. Cupping her chin in his palms and kissing her deeply, he assured tenderly, "We're dating".


	6. Chapter 6

_I just want to see you_

_When you're all alone_

_I just want to catch you if I can_

_I just want to be there_

_When the morning light explodes_

_On your face it radiates_

_  
The Pogues – Love You 'Till The End_

He knew it was a cheesy line, "You good in a vest"; but it was true, she did.

The beauty of Jess was that most of the time she didn't even _try_. He'd seen her roll out of bed, pull on jeans and run her fingers through her hair, ready to leave for brunch within fifteen minutes looking hotter than ever. From the sexy dresses and the way she curled her hair for Saturday night dates with him, to the long French braids and Nike pants she wore to run; she always looked good.

There were times he cursed her looks: The night he'd spent a dangerous amount of time during a stakeout thinking about how magnificent she looked in the scraps of lace she called 'underwear', instead of concentrating on the actual task in hand. The morning that she'd worn his last clean shirt as she dried her hair and drank coffee, leaving her scent impregnated on the fabric which taunted him for the remainder of the day. She had however taken pity on him that day; pulling him into a deserted fourth floor record room and indulging at least two of his fantasies.

He didn't get to see her looking good nearly as much as he'd like though, much to his chagrin. Between their clashing shifts, separate friends and family and her willful independence; their relationship was limited to a few dates or sleepovers a week. While he wanted to push for more of her time, he thought it wise, for the time being anyway, to take things at her pace.

He'd been pleased to find therefore, that for once their days off coincided. Hoping he could convince her to spent the time with him, taking a trip out of the city or lazing in coffee bars and the movies, he'd been about to call when she'd texted him, grumbling that she'd been called in to cover a colleague. With his plans for a day with Jess dashed, he'd spent the day moping and reluctantly running errands to the grocery store and dry cleaner.

Lying stretched out on the sofa, beer in hand and aimlessly flicking through the TV channels, he'd been unbearably bored. He'd tried calling her a couple of times to suggest dinner after her shift but each time the phone clicked to voicemail. He could have called other friends, gone for a run or driven to dinner at his brother's, but instead chose to continue to brood.

He'd just about given up and pulled on his sneakers to venture outside when the buzzer sounded. Her voice had been small, lacking the usual exuberance and repartee.

o-o-o

Standing in the doorway, she was dressed more casually than usual; slouchy jeans and sneakers, soft fleece zipped up to her chin and, he noted, his faded Rangers cap pulled low on her brow. She normally met him with a sassy grin and quip but instead crept wordlessly into his arms. It wasn't that she was unaffectionate, quite the opposite in fact, just that it was usually with much more reserve and control. Her sudden urge for contact both surprised and concerned him, although he selfishly allowed himself to simply enjoy the sensation of being close. As he pulled back to greet her, her head dropped, shielding her face from his eyes.

He lifted the cap, about to tease her about her entrance, but instead revealed the fresh bruise on her cheek. "Jesus Jess", he growled, anger flashing in his eyes. She flinched as he brushed stray strands of hair from her face, tilting her cheek towards the light. Sighing and shaking his head, he led to her to a kitchen chair, his jaw tightening as she grimaced to sit. It was a grimace he recognized, one he'd made enough times himself.

Kneeling in front of her he unzipped the fleece, delicately peeling back her t-shirt and camisole to expose the angry reddish-purple over her rib cage. Sitting back on his heels he sighed, scrubbing his hand over his shorn hair, "What happened Jess? Why didn't you call me?"

"I'm fine" she defended fiercely.

Snorting, he spat "You clearly fucking not fine Jess!" before adding more softly, "What happened?"

Usually so tall and confident, she seemed to gradually shrink under his glare. "Becker and I picked up a couple of kids; one of them didn't the way I talked to him…"

She sat silently as he cursed the kid who slugged her and didn't resist as he pressed an icepack to her cheek. The air was uneasy as he shook his head, before smiling wearily, "You should have called me Jess", and leaning forward to embrace her as tightly as he dared.

The ringing of her cell phone broke them apart, holding it out to show him the screen she mouthed, "Ali".

Jess had talked about her friend Ali often enough and, although they'd never met, he liked the sound of her; an ER physician originally from Scotland, she and Jess had met in Paris during their early 20's. While Jess had returned home, Ali had continued to work her way around the globe, arriving in New York some eighteen months previous.

As she held the phone to her ear, he watched over her intently; it was a one sided conversation with Jess only nodding and occasionally offering a quiet "Okay" and "Uh-huh". She frowned a little and then held out the cell, "She wants to talk to you."

"Don? Ali McGregor", the voice barked.

She was a whirlwind; berating Jess for being in a position to be harmed and then speaking dotingly of her, expertly describing the injuries sustained and sighing, "Ach, the ribs are just cracked but I really wanted to keep her in for a wee while. She was having none of it though...you know how she is." He nodded; he was slowly working her out.

Wrapping up the conversation, she lectured him about giving Jess acetaminophen for the pain and making sure she rested. He smiled at the fondness in her voice, although wasn't sure if her final words were of advice or warning; "She's a tough girl but inside…" she paused, thoughtfully, "Just make sure and look after Don."

He didn't need to be told to look after Jess; feeding her dinner and finding the series on TLC he knew she enjoyed, dressing her in his favorite t-shirt and easing her into bed. As she lay, sleeping beside him, he watched in wonder; even when she was fragile and bruised, she looked good.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Notes:_

_1) Doing bloke chat, when you're a girl, is hard - apologies!_

_2) Doing American bloke chat, when you're a British chippy predominately surrounded by blokes of the ex-pat variety, is extra hard - double apologies!_

_3) Shopping in Yankee Candle on a boyfriend's credit card is **really **wrong, even if they owe you $50..._

* * *

_There's a girl that you might know_

_She's a friend at least I tell you so_

_But it might surprise you to find_

_There's something going on behind the door_

_The Ditty Bops - There's A Girl_

They'd been drinking morning lattes when the call came in.

Curled up in an oversized armchair with the mug precariously balanced on her knee, she'd been deeply engrossed in a Marie-Claire article about the Eastern European sex trade. Confused, he'd asked earlier why she bothered with magazine articles on crime when she could read a couple of case files but she'd just chuckled, cutely crinkled her nose and gone back to reading.

"Messer has a spare ticket for the game tonight..." he'd hissed, hand clamped over the cell.

Peering over the magazine, she'd looked blankly for a few moments before patting his thigh, "Cool". Using a fingertip to lower the magazine he'd hissed again, "A ticket...for the game tonight..." As realization crept in she'd blushed, exclaiming "Don, you don't need to ask me!"

He'd frowned, weighing up her words. With previous girlfriends, he might have taken it to be a test; choosing his friends and sport or choosing them. With Jess however, he took it at face value.

Surreptitiously, she'd listened as he'd made plans, beer and pizza at his place before the game; then watched as he'd finished the call and gone back to the browsing film reviews. Leaning over, she'd gently laid a palm on his cheek "Vous etes...", before pausing, as if unsure of the word. He'd raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to question her but she'd kissed him, grinning; sweetly but with depth and soul.

o-o-o

Danny went from zero to sixty the moment he walked through the door; raving about the game, bemoaning that his relationship with Lindsay was still on exceedingly rocky ground, bitching that the subway was intolerable and noting, a little smugly, that Flack had been conspicuous in his recent absence.

"So what gives Flack? You missed hoops last week, you've not been in O'Sheas much...have you got a girl on the go?"

He shrugged, occupying himself with scrutinizing take-out menus although there was no real question in what they'd order, "Just busy I guess".

Danny continued with his whirlwind, regaling a tale of a lab phenomenon and flicking through the sports pages of the newspaper. Pulling two beers from the fridge he turned to hand one across the counter, "Boom!" Danny appeared at his side, peering into the fridge, "Organic fat free milk; that's chick crap. There _is_ a girl!"

"Maybe I just care about what I eat; antibiotics and hormones and stuff?"

Scoffing, Danny rolled his eyes "Nuh-uh. Firstly, guys only buy organic crap if there's a woman involved. They're pre-set to buy into that whole 'It's cost a buck more but tastes exactly the same' scam. And secondly, guys only know about 'antibiotics and hormones and stuff' if there's a woman involved. Trust me; it's the crap Montana likes so it's in my fridge".

The tips of his ears pinked a little and his brow furrowed, "Don't know what you're talking about Messer".

He watched as Danny poked around the apartment; reading the backs of DVDs and books, examining the photographs on the high bookshelf and rummaging in the low bowl on the coffee table full of change, keys and receipts. As he picked up the phone to call in the pizza order, Danny grinned and disappeared from sight.

"Messer" he shouted, warningly, before being distracted by the answer from Pizza Di Marco. As he finished placing the order, Danny sauntered back into the living room looking dangerously pleased and dangling trophy items from his fingertips.

"Look what I found!" Danny crowed holding up a necklace. "I'm sure I recognize this actually...someone I've seen recently".

"Danny, quit poking around and put it back where you found it". He lunged, but despite the height advantage over the second man, missed.

Grinning, Danny set the piece of jewelry on the table and moved onto the second object, a small coin purse. He gingerly unzipped the purse, as if it were an official piece of evidence in the lab. Extracting a fold of bills, he counted through them, efficiently noting "Thirty two bucks".

"Can't believe you're doing this Dan", he sighed, a little irritated that he couldn't think of a good comeback.

Danny hooted with laughter, pulling out the next item. "A MasterCard in the name of," he waggled his eyebrows, "Donald J Flack". Shaking his head in disgust, he glowered "Man, you're letting this chick have your credit card? _Big_ mistake...you've got to stop that now! Before you know it there'll be shit like 'Yankee Candle' appearing on the statement".

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, "Just put it back Dan".

Smirking at the enjoyment of torturing a friend, Danny pulled out the final contents. "Movie tickets to Made of Honor", he grimaced as he said the words, "from this afternoon". He frowned, "Don, I'm sorry buddy. For a night at the game, you had to suffer a chick flick?"

As Danny shook his head in sympathy, he grabbed the purse, shoving it deep into his jeans pocket. "Jeez Danny, it's like being back in middle school sometimes".

Snorting, Danny held up his hand in mock apology, "Bit touchy there Flack, aren't you?! Ha-ha, with the way things are with Linds right now I need to do my vicarious living through someone else. You're getting laid, you get to go the game without much hassle..."

Grateful for the sound of the buzzer he grumbled, "Well, I wish you'd do your vicarious living through someone else's love life".

Although already halfway to the door Danny paused, retraced his steps and peered intently at his friend. Clapping him on the shoulder he chuckled, "Your 'love life' Flack? Telling. _Very_ telling".


	8. Chapter 8

_I'm not scared that I will tire of her_

_She takes me out into the beautiful love_

_I'm not sure just what it means_

_From a whisper to a scream_

_Starsailor - Whisper to a Scream_

Stubbornness was a trait they shared. Pig-headed, dogged, obstinate, tenacious; regardless of the word used it amounted to the same thing - two people who liked to be right.

As a result, they frequently clashed. Arguments were trivial; when he poured the last of the milk into their coffee and returned the empty carton to the fridge or when she left flattening irons switched on so he scalded himself when he moved them to reach the toothpaste; ending as quickly as they began with any residual tension worked out in the bedroom

Although on the surface he complained about her strong will, it was a quality he greatly respected. He adored the way she stood up for herself and wasn't afraid to rock the boat.

Sometimes he deliberately started to fight with her; it wasn't so much that he wanted to argue with her, just that he enjoyed when she put him in his place. It turned him on.

Usually she just raised her voice a little and threw a few sharp words his way but when she was really riled, she switched to yelling in French. Where everyday French drove him crazy, testy loud French pushed him over the edge.

o-o-o

Brandishing a wad of files, her hand hovered over his desk as she debated where to drop the papers, "You know Flack? If you wrote legibly then paperwork would take a hell of lot less time". Shrugging irritably he snatched them from her grip, dropping them ungracefully onto a precarious stack in the corner. "I'm leaving in twenty minutes", she jabbed at her watch, as if to emphasis the timeframe, "Twenty minutes Flack. If you're coming with me then you need to be ready".

He continued to scrawl, ignoring her frustrated loitering as she waited for a response.

"For pity's sake, sometimes I wonder why I bother..." she muttered through clenched teeth. Exhaling loudly, she continued more audibly "If you're coming, parking lot in twenty", before striding away.

He deliberately took longer than the allotted time, enjoying riling her by sauntering across the dark lot a full ten minutes later than the time she'd given him. He watched her lean against the car, arms folded and eyes narrow. Smiling sweetly, his voice dripped with mock apology, "Sorry I'm late babe, got held up". He laughed a little inside, awarding himself a few extra points as he knew how much she hated 'babe'.

"...don't know why I bother with you". He only caught the end of her grouse but noted it was the second time she'd used the phrase in less than an hour. The words stung.

He knew the Cabbie Killer had driven her mad, that she'd wanted him off the streets as much as he did. He knew she was exhausted and that for the past week she'd pretty much replaced sleep with calories. He knew that she just wanted to get home; to shower, to eat something that didn't come from a vending machine or a take-out shop and to sleep. He knew that she ached from the tumble she'd taken pushing him from the path of the cab. He knew that she'd been there for him when he'd pulled her into a deserted office, hungrily seeking solace. He knew that he'd taken his frustrations of the case out on her; that he'd grumbled and shouted and deliberately passed extra paperwork onto her stack.

While he usually fought with her for fun, this time he'd just been a bastard.

The car moved swiftly through the night city, the streets unusually deserted. She'd turned on the radio, loudly, as soon as the engine turned over and the rhythmic beat pounded at his already aching head. Bent over the wheel, her eyes fought sleep and lacked their usual sparkle. His lips curled into a wistful smile, he didn't want to fight want her; he wanted to take home and put her to bed, wrap her in her his arms and hold her as she slept.

"Jess..."

She took her eyes from the road to glare at him, before moving her hand to the radio to increase the volume and focusing back ahead.

"Jess..."

Her eyes slid to glare at him again, "Fuck off Flack".

Shaking his head and sighing, he leant back against the headrest, closing his eyes and allowing the motion of the car rock him into a dreamless sleep. He woke as she slid into a parking space, clambering from the driver's seat and slamming the door.

He had to jog a little to catch the entrance door, following her into the lobby. Where she usually walked up the four flights of stairs, she slumped against the wall waiting for the elevator. The air in the elevator cab was thick; she stood tall, arms folded with a menacing look and he hunched in the corner, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

She strode into the apartment, dropping her bag unceremoniously onto the countertop and sloshing water into a glass.

"Jess..." he started again.

She took a mouthful before banging the glass down, "You've been a real idiot this week Don".

Nodding humbly, he mumbled, "I know. Listen..."

The anger in her eyes was momentarily replaced with a flash of compassion but it was short lived, striding away she sniped, "Asshole".

He knew he deserved more than the 'idiot' and 'asshole' she threw at him. It incensed him though, the way she stuck to her guns and berated him. But it made him adore her just a little bit more too. As she passed him he grabbed her wrist, "For fuck sake, for once would you just do as you're told Jess? Just shut up and listen!"

For a moment he thought he'd gone too far; although he said the words with no real malice or volume, they stopped her dead. She stared at him for a second before fighting to free her wrist. Loosening his grasp he caught her glare again, "I'm trying to apologize...I've been a bastard and I'm sorry". She held his stare until her dropped her wrist, before stalking away.

She was suspiciously quiet; usually there was a slam of a door, or a few cross words mumbled but there was just silence.

Following her to the bedroom, he paused at the door. She hadn't bothered to switch on the light, instead relying on the illumination from the street lights and adjacent bathroom; already undressed she was sorting redundant clothes into the laundry hamper. Stealing into the room he slid an arm around her waist, scooping aside her hair and brushing his lips to the nape of her neck.

"Don, don't" she sighed wearily, her head involuntarily dropping forward to allow him better access.

Trailing his lips across her shoulder and letting his hand roam, he breathed "Don't what?"

She leant into him, gasping at his touch, "You've been an ass".

"I know" he murmured against her hair, his tongue tracing along her carotid artery.

Her hands slid down his thighs, gripping tightly, "You can't fix everything this way".

He dipped his hand, tightening his hold around her waist as she moaned. "I know Jess, I'm sorry. Tomorrow will be better though, I promise".


	9. Chapter 9

_What I choose to do is no concern to you and your friends_

_Where I lay my hat may not be my home, but I will last on my own_

_'Cause it's me and my life_

_It's my life_

_Dido - It's My Life_

She'd gradually begun giving him more of her time; growing from a few dates a week to a least half of her days off and most of the nights (or days) when they clocked off together; when their shifts overlapped, they invariably drifted to one or other's apartment, arriving with take-out or coffee or just a sly grin and fuck me eyes.

Their shifts had clashed, again; she'd worked the day shift and he was working the night. After running her usual four mile route, she'd had dinner with girlfriends before falling into bed, exhausted. His call roused her from a deep sleep.

"Hey" she'd yawned, smiling sleepily, "I missed you today Don Flack".

"I missed you too baby. I need a favor...please"

Groaning, she'd yawned even wider "Nuh-uh, forget the favor; just come to bed".

He'd chuckled softly, "You have _no _idea how good that sounds Jess", before his tone turned more somber "I need your help though; I need to track down my sister".

She hadn't asked questions; why he wasn't sure which club his sister tended the bar in or why he needed to find her quite so quickly. She'd simply flashed her badge at the doormen of the clubs he'd had given her the names of and scanned the bar to match the photograph he'd texted to her cell. When he'd called to say he'd finally picked Sam up, she'd only been a few blocks away. She'd watched him usher his sister into the car, rubbing the heel of his hands over his eyes. He'd shaken his head when she offered to come down to the Precinct with them but gratefully accepted the spare key to her apartment, pressing a hasty kiss to her lips.

She wasn't sure what time he'd crawled into bed. It'd been dark and she'd barely woken, mumbling "You okay?" and feeling the nod of his head, as he pulled her tight against his body.

o-o-o

Stirring a little, she shifted towards the centre of the bed expecting to find the warmth of his body. When she found only smooth cool cotton, she forced her eyes open, blinking and adjusting to the darkness of the room. The alarm clock on the nightstand shone 4.03, its orange light illuminating the two badges that sat together; his and hers.

Shivering in the cool night air, she tugged on a soft cotton hoodie abandoned on a chair the previous day and padded silently from the bedroom. The living area was in darkness save for the muted television; ESPN showed highlights from an old Rangers game but he wasn't watching, instead slumped in the arm chair, head resting in his hands.

Perching on the edge of the coffee table, she placed her hands gently on his knees, "Don?"

He lifted his head, sighing, before reaching out and pulling her close. She held him, rubbing his back soothingly and cradling his head until he pulled away, giving her a tired lop-sided smile.

"Want to tell me what was going on earlier?"

He wearily recounted the latter events of Ethan Scott case; Adam arriving at the Precinct with the VIN plates, calling to ask for her help, Lauren Salinas and Sam blowing up as they left. "'...you just wish I was a little more like you', that's what she said Jess".

She frowned, electing to remain silent. He always talked fondly of his younger sister; reminiscing of the fun they had growing up, how smart and clever she was, that she could do anything she wanted and how close they once were, but invariably ending with "I don't know why she chooses to do all the stuff she does; working in the bar, hanging with scum..."

He raised his eyebrow at her expression, "What?"

"I hear what you're saying Don, she was stupid but..."

"But what Jess? I don't see a, _but_"

She sighed resignedly, "I can just understand a little, that's all".

He leant back, folding his arms, eying her with both skepticism and irritation.

"I'm not excusing her; it's not easy though you know..."

He snorted, "Christ, you're not going to play the 'hard done by, baby girl' card are you Jess?!"

She sighed again, ignoring the jibe. "All I'm saying is I know what it's like being in her shoes; youngest kid, Father breathing down your neck every waking minute, trying to live up to brothers..."

Although he growled, his expression softened a little as she continued. "I've been there. Having my Dad tell me that I need to make something of myself; that I'm going to be the first Angell to go to college and be something smart instead of a cop; being constantly told what my Mother would have said or done or thought; hearing every single day how perfect my brother Chris is and that I should try to be a little more like him".

"Nobody said I was perfect Jess!" he scowled.

"My Father and brothers had my life mapped out for me. The day I ditched college and bought a plane ticket to Europe, all hell broke loose. I know they just wanted the best for me, but at the time...All I'm saying is Don; your sister's a grown woman, it's her life. Sure hanging with assholes and getting into trouble is crazy but the rest of the stuff; where she chooses to work...it's her life".

She watched him process the suggestions, smiling softly and teasing "And no, you're not perfect", before kissing him tenderly and continuing with sincerity, "but you _are_ a good man and a good cop".

He gave her that lop sided smile again before flopping forward and resting his head in her lap, enjoying the calming touch of her fingers. Closing his eyes, he remembered the arguments after his Mother died. Don Flack Sr _had_ spent a lot of time yelling at Sam; about her grades, staying out late, her friends, that she should be more like her brothers...Perhaps, he thought, Jess had a small point, although it didn't excuse most of the stunts his sister pulled.

She let him lie, stroking through his hair, until she thought he'd have worked through a least a little of the funk. Gently squeezing his shoulder, she cajoled him gently "Come on Don, sleep; it's cold and I need to be up early".

Almost immediately he sat up, scrubbing his hands over his grey face. Wordlessly he lifted her into his lap, draping a throw over their bodies and wrapping his arms around her. As she slept in his embrace, her slow rhythmic breaths relaxing him as they always did, he pondered the words she'd spoken before finally resolving to call his sister to make amends.


	10. Chapter 10

_You make everything_

_Everything just right_

_So alive_

_Life is good when you're around_

_Junk - Life is Good_

He'd nodded, sneezing, as she gesticulated towards his mug with the coffee pot. "I think I've got the 'flu." Balking, she'd stepped back, raising an eyebrow, "The 'flu?"

Pouting a little with wide eyes, he'd nodded gravely, "Uh-huh" before adding a cough for effect.

Teasing "Poor baby", she'd poured the coffee and suggested "Sure it's not just the allergies Flack? I heard all about your brush with the big cat! Shot of Benadryl would clear you right up you know!?"

Shaking his head stubbornly he'd scowled, "I don't have 'allergies'! It's the 'flu...or anthrax or something. It could be the end of me Jess, you should take the chance now and cook me my last supper".

She'd disappeared in fits of giggles, leaving him groaning and cursing both smart women and the evolution of the feline species. He'd always been allergic to cats; from as young as he could remember even the slightest sniff of a kitty would leave him with streaming eyes and uncontrollable sneezing. He hated what they did to him; the memories of the picking up Bianca DiFazio for Prom and being reduced to a red eyed snotty mess by her Mother's prize Siamese cat still haunted him. Although, how he got her into the backseat of his Father's Caddy after the incident was a more interesting memory.

Returning to his desk some time later, still sneezing, he'd found a strip of antihistamine capsules and a note on his chair: _'Dinner mine, 7.30...bring beer'._

_o-o-o_

He was fully aware that Jess could cook, very well, but what she chose to serve could range anywhere from an average midweek meal to a gourmet feast to an over microwaved Lean Cuisine dinner. Not that he minded what she served though, any dinner with her was good in his books and, in hindsight, he knew that the Lean Cuisine episode followed a long period of dinners from her kitchen and very few on his credit card.

As he walked into her apartment, proffering both beer and flowers, he was hit by a wave of nostalgia; the aroma transporting back to his Mother's kitchen and him as a small boy.

"Corned beef?!" His eyes widened and belly growled.

"Corned beef, mash and cabbage," she nodded knowingly, "an Irish last supper I believe."

As he followed her into the kitchen, he eyed her a little skeptically. Jess was probably the coolest girl he'd ever dated; funny and intelligent, sexy and strong minded. The sex was amazing and their dates, from lazy Sundays watching Family Guy re-runs on TBS to the spur of the minute road trips to Cape Cod so she could walk on the beach, were always great. Every day with her was exciting and she kept him on his toes. For her to produce his favorite childhood dinner, mid week when he _knew_ he'd done nothing out of the ordinary, couldn't help but raise a shadow of suspicion in his mind.

As he frowned, debating things were leading; she chuckled and draped her arms around his neck, "If you're going out to anthrax Don, you might as well go on a full belly." He pouted, before grinning broadly as she tickled the spot behind his ear, laying his lips onto hers.

They lazed on the floor after dinner, barefoot, playing Monopoly. Usually he swept clean the board quickly but had been put off by her dated French edition; instead of being able to buy up Park Place and Pennsylvania Avenue he was faced with Rue de la Paix and Avenue des Champs Elysees. She rubbed her hands in glee as he landed on yet another of her heavily developed squares, grinning and holding out her hand. Grumbling, he thrust the remainder of his fake Francs into her grasp before flopping on his back in defeat, "You don't play nice Jessica".

She laughed, leaning over to brush her lips to his, protesting "I do play nice! I made you a lovely dinner and found my Monopoly set _and _I might run to some of your other favorite things later too..."

His ears pricked at the '...other favorite things' and she bent to kiss him again; he deftly tugged her down, so she lay along the length of his body.

Her body radiated warmth and was faintly perfumed with coconut shampoo and apples. Her hands ran through his cropped hair and behind his head, her thumbs grazing along his cheekbones as she kissed him; softly at first, then gently nibbling his bottom lip she nudged his mouth open. As her tongue met his he growled, his hands sliding under her t-shirt to run the length of her spine, melding her body closer to his.

Leaning his forehead against hers, his breath caught, "Wow'.

She purred as he wrapped his arm around her, protectively (possessively); his fingers tracing across the ink on her ribcage. "I was just kidding when I said you didn't play nice Jess" he croaked. Chuckling softly, she dropped a feather light kiss on his jaw.

"What did I do to deserve this tonight Jess?"

She shrugged a little; then teased gently, "Even tough guys need a bit of looking after sometimes I guess."

Grinning, he nodded, "We do!" before cupping her chin and loosing himself in the dark pools of her eyes, "Thank you"

He pulled her close again, tucking her into the crook of his neck. "There's pie for dessert, you want some?" her breath was hot against his skin. Brushing his cheek against her hair, inhaling the sweet scent, he asked "Apple?" As she nodded, he sighed in contentment, "My favorite...but I think I'm good here just now."


	11. Chapter 11

_I am living out the life of a poet_

_I am the jester in the ancient court_

_And you're the funny little frog in my throat_

_Belle & Sebastian – Funny Little Frog_

He'd jogged to catch up with her as she left the Precinct. Falling into step, he'd grinned; eyes twinkling. They'd walked the first block as colleagues, discussing the case, but as they crossed the street and into the early morning throng he'd slipped his arm around her waist, halting in the middle of the street to kiss her. Steering her across the sidewalk, he'd ushered her into her favorite coffee bar and to a booth tucked in the corner.

"Your buddy Messer was fishing earlier" she'd reported, shifting a little closer, "Still thinks you've got some girl on the go."

Lazily tracing a pattern on her thigh, he'd chuckled, "Yeah, he's been bugging me about you for weeks now."

"Thought you were going to put him out of his misery?" she'd asked, lacing her fingers through his.

Grinning, he'd brushed his lips to hers, tasting bitter coffee mixed with sweet raspberry muffin, "I _was,_ but it's more fun this way" before kissing her again, deeply, and murmuring, "And I want you to myself for a while longer."

o-o-o

Danny glared as he laughed aloud at his own joke; feeling pleased, that even with so many hours on the clock, he hadn't lost his wit. They sat opposite each other in Café King; eating breakfast and discussing the most recent case. Smirking at his friend's lack of humor, he cheerfully went back to his stack of pancakes.

"You know Flack," Danny pointed his fork at him accusingly, "you and your girl Angell make quite a pair."

His ears pricked at the words, 'your girl'. He liked the way it sounded, 'his girl Jess'. Mustering his most casual response, he mumbled through a mouthful of breakfast, "Huh?"

"Yeah, she was at the Jones scene earlier; full of cute little one liners," the CSI groused, "a real wise ass. The pair of you could do some serious damage together."

He smirked again; proud that 'his girl' could rattle even Danny, the king of comedy.

Danny rolled his eyes, before plowing back into the plateful of eggs. "She is quite a looker though...Angell."

He frowned, aggrieved that another guy was commenting on 'his girl's' looks, "You think?"

Danny snapped his head up, snorting, "Don't bullshit me Don, you know she's hot."

Shrugging, he replied as indifferently as he could manage, "I guess...if you like that sort of thing."

They ate in silence for a few moments, musing both the case and women.

"Kate Hudson…the blonde in the chick flicks; now she's hot."

Danny nodded in agreement, although little bemused by the randomness of the statement.

"Saw her last week you know. Stopped for a slice on the way to the game and boom! There she was; other end of the counter. Hot damn!"

Danny smiled at the story, "That so Don?!" Carefully swallowing the mouthful of eggs and laying down the cutlery, he leant back against the booth. "You know, when Angell and I had coffee earlier, going over a couple of results, she told me the funniest story."

He raised an eyebrow, a little apprehensive where Danny was leading.

"We'd been chatting…about you amongst other things actually. I'd figured that since you and her work cases together and since she's a girl and all; I could get a bit of dirt on this chick you're seeing. Anyway, I tell her that I'd taken Linds to see that crappy movie, My Best Friend's Girl, the other weekend and _she_ tells me that she'd stopped for a slice on the way to the game last week and that I'd never guess who was at the other end of the counter..."

His hands froze, forkful of pancakes halfway to his open mouth, his cheeks flushing.

"There's a lot of places to get a slice in this city you know Flack? Quite a coincide that you _and_ Angell saw Kate Hudson on game night, eh?!"

Danny smirked, cocking an eyebrow. "Want to tell me again that Angell's only hot '…if you like that sort of thing'?!"

He scowled, cramming the pancakes into his mouth and chewing meaningfully, "Watch it Messer! How hot my girlfriend is, is of _no _concern of yours."


	12. Chapter 12

_  
Oh baby, baby it's a wild world  
It's hard to get by just upon a smile  
Oh baby, baby it's a wild world  
I'll always remember you like a child, girl_

_Cat Stevens - Wild World_

She'd intended to tell him that she'd met Sam, just not exactly _how_. But the minute she'd mentioned 'meeting her', she knew she'd have to expand it to 'almost picking her up on a drunk and disorderly'. As the words left her mouth and his face fell; she was instantly filled with regret.

He hadn't talked about Sam much since the Ethan Scott case but it was clear that the situation festered inside. She knew he'd taken her for dinner but when she'd asked about it, he'd just shrugged, changing the subject by using his lips and tongue.

Although he'd changed his mind about a lift the night he'd followed Sam, he'd been lurking outside her apartment when she arrived home. She'd seen the tear he hurriedly brushed away as he told her what he'd heard; "AA?! My baby sister's got a drink problem? Christ Jess, how did we manage to fuck her up so badly?!"

She'd done her best to be there for him; listening when he'd talked, sex when he'd wanted and drinking when he'd decided that Jameson was the answer. By the time their day off arrived later in the week, she'd decided that distraction would be the best activity and plumped for a little James Bond at the movies.

:-:-:

He loitered in the foyer, popcorn and soda in one hand, staring at his shoes and idly wondering, yet again, why it was that women needed to use the restroom quite so often.

"Donnie! I've seen you a hell of a lot lately...are you following me?!"

He looked up from his toes to see Sam standing in front of him, clutching soda and candy. She looked younger than her years and her teasing grin didn't quite meet her eyes. Giving her a rueful smile, he pulled her into an awkward brotherly hug, "Hey kiddo".

Brightening a little, she stretched out to take a handful of their popcorn; poking her tongue out as he batted her hand away, "What you doing here anyway Donnie? Hiding at the movies isn't where you'll find the girls!" About to retort with a quip and quiz her why she was alone at the movies, he was distracted by a familiar hand tenderly smoothing over his back.

He'd already planned to ask Jess if she'd officially meet his sister, but kept delaying it until he worked out how to diplomatically introduce the woman he was dating to the sister she almost arrested. A chance meeting however, meant the two women unwittingly solved the problem for him.

Sam grinned, raising a surprised eyebrow in his direction, as she introduced herself and Jess, as cool as ever, breezed through the greetings and into conversation about the film; inviting Sam to sit with them and snickering at his glower when they drooled over the star. He knew that Sam recognized her almost arresting officer; he saw the flash of realization in her eyes and the worried look she slid him. Draping his arm across her shoulder as he escorted the pair to seats, he nodded his head a little in encouragement, mouthing "It's okay."

Leaving the movie theater, he couldn't be sure whether he was grateful or worried that the two women, sister and girlfriend, were deep in conversation; plotting where he was going to buy them an early dinner and raving about the 'cute' shade of eyeshadow they both wore. However over Pollo Pesto, as Sam thoroughly embarrassed him with tales of his youthful misfortunes and Jess howled with laughter, he began thinking the latter was maybe correct.

After loading Sam into a cab outside the restaurant they walked in companionable silence, their fingers intertwined, until she caught his eye and dissolved into a flood of giggles.

"Oh Don, mon chou," affectionately running her free had across his upper arm, "your sister's a riot; those stories were priceless!" She stopped dead in front of him, cocking her head a little, "She's right about your 'mad dog look' you know?!" As his scowled darken she covered her mouth to hide the wide smile, stretching on tip toe to pull his lips to meet hers.

She slipped her arm around his waist as they walked on, letting her fingers creep under his t-shirt and hook over the waistband of his jeans. Regaining her composure, her cheeks flushed "Sorry Don, you know I'm laughing _with_ you…"

Growled in jest, he slung his arm over her shoulder, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, "Yeah, yeah Jess. So long as you're getting your jollies...I'll remember this though!" Giving his side a reassuring squeeze, they grinned broadly at each other.

"Seriously though Don, she's a sweet girl; no question she's a Flack."

His eyes widen, surprised at her comment of family resemblance given the history, "You think?"

"Mm-hmm; no question which of her brothers she's fondest of either." Her comment was casual and didn't wait for a response. "I guess I'm the same though. I love all my brothers equally, really I do, but Matt's my favorite. Sure, he's a pain in the ass and he likes to boss me around but..." She smiled at a memory, known only in her mind, before shaking her head, "It sounds awful, eh? To have a _favorite_ sibling, but I'm hoping that everyone's the same. Sam certainly seems to be anyway."

He stared at her, a little open mouthed and genuinely flummoxed by her current topic of conversation.

Snorting a little, she threw him an exasperated eye roll, "Come on, it's kind of obvious! The way she calls you 'Donnie', the way she barely mentions your brothers, the way all her stories start 'Remember when _we_...'? Why else do you think she gets so pissed off at you?!"

He frowned, confused.

Shaking her head she tried again, "Does Sam bother when anyone else but you or your old man come down on her?"

Frowning again, he shrugged.

Sighing in defeat at his blank expression she explained, slowly, "She's your baby sister and she adores you. She looks up to you, she wants you to be proud of her, she misses you…just call her. Go round to her place and be her big brother instead of her parole officer." Skimming a tender hand across his chest, she smiled empathetically "The AA thing's got to be killing her, she really needs you Don."

He let out a low whistle, "Christ!"

"Anyway, if it's okay with you, I was thinking I might call her and suggest lunch? It'll be fun, plus it turns out one of her girl friends works on the MAC counter and can get 15% off..." She launched into an uncharacteristic ramble about cosmetics and shopping and girl things but he stopped listening; his mind instead processing her observations about his whole relationship with Sam. Her hand softly squeezing his arm roused him back to reality, "Well Don? Is that okay?"

Gently steering her close to the buildings he halted, cupping her face in his palms. Giving her a crooked grin, he slowly nodded his head; "Jess Angell, you are the most..." he sighed dreamily, "amazing girl." Before she managed to raise an eyebrow in surprise or retort with one her clever remarks, his lips were on hers.


	13. Chapter 13

_Do you remember the time I knew a girl from Mars?  
I don't know if you knew that  
Oh we'd stay up late playing cards  
Henri Wintermans cigars  
Though she never told me her name  
I still love you, girl from Mars_

_Ash - Girl From Mars_

She was a rebel: The ink on her skin. Rarely carrying a purse; if it didn't fit in her pocket, or more recently _his _pocket, then she didn't need it. Dropping out of college to travel the world then join the force. Dating a cop; a younger, yet higher ranked cop.

She was compliant: Adhering to and enforcing the law; thriving in the rights and wrongs. Filing paperwork on time. Playing by the rules of sport; never carded or sent off the field.

She was spontaneous: Suggesting a day out at the coast but turning it into a three day road trip. Nonchalantly announcing, after the appetizer plates were cleared, that she wasn't wearing panties; smirking at his open mouth stare.

She was a creature of habit: Ordering rare steak then chocolate espresso cake in Gino's without glancing at the menu. Doing laundry on Tuesday. A midnight snack, whether she was working or out or home.

:-:-:

He stirred from his nap, satisfied and body pleasantly aching, expecting to stretch out and pull her into his arms. Yawning widely he propped himself up on elbows, growling at her absence before pulling on wrinkled shorts and padding towards the kitchen.

From the doorway he watched her pull open a cabinet door, stretching on tiptoe to see the contents. Crossing the room silently, he slipped an arm around her waist, laughing softly against her ear then lifting a box of cookies from the top shelf; holding her close until she twisted, thanking him with a kiss. Munching thoughtfully on a Thin Mint as she poured a tall glass of milk, he chuckled "You're a real creature of habit Jess, you know that?"

Taking a huge gulp then cramming a cookie into her mouth, she scowled defensively, mumbling through crumbs "I can't help that my tummy always gets hungry around now!"

She always used 'tummy' when referring to her own stomach; although it was a babyish word, he thought it sounded sweet coming from her lips. Her 'tummy' was more than sweet though; lean and toned and dusty gold.

Stooping to lift her cotton tank top, he brushed his lips across the soft, warm skin before moving up; savoring the minty-chocolaty-milky taste on her tongue. "I know Jess, you tired yourself out earlier and now your 'tummy' needs a little snack!" he teased, kissing away the glower she shot him.

She hopped onto the countertop, drawing him into the V of her legs and linking her ankles behind his knees. Passing the milk glass back and forth, they snacked; talking about nothing more than the cookies their Mothers once baked. "Lemony ones" she sighed happily at the blissful memory. "Oatmeal raisin," he sighed with equal fondness, "best cookies out there."

"Hey" he asked suddenly, "Did you and Stel' have dinner tonight? I didn't know you girls were friendly?"

He'd known Stella for a lot of years; had never forgotten the day she walked into his, a lowly Third Grade Detective's, crime scene and balled him out. To this day he was still in awe of her, and still a little intimidated by her. He'd kissed her once, after a drunken dinner, but they'd both agreed that it was weird and settled for friendship instead.

He caught the flicker of guilt in her eye before she breezed, "Nah, not so much, but we were tying up a few loose ends on a case and it just so happened we were both hungry."

Cocking an eyebrow, he pried "A few loose ends?"

"Mm-hmm"

"Something I should know about Jess?"

She knew he was close to Stella; that he looked up to her and deeply respected her. Until that evening however, she hadn't had particularly much to do with the CSI, other than the occasional coffee as they reviewed cases and small talk if they passed in the hallway. Although they'd run the Rooney case together, she wasn't completely sure why Stella had then chosen to approach her with the Philip II coins; maybe it was just connected to her prior dealings with Stan Travado, during a period attached to an Organized Crime task force. Whatever the reason though; Stella was his friend and, providing things didn't break the rules, she was happy to play a part.

As they discussed hooking George Kolovos over dinner, the two women agreed to keep the deal quiet; not to blatantly lie, but not to go out of their way to mention it to him. Stella had given her a knowing look, "You know what Don's like Jess," then cocked a smug eyebrow, "a little better than the rest of us from what I hear."

Nodding, "Mm-hmm, Stella told me some very interesting things about you Don Flack" she snaked her arms around his waist, gently tickling his back.

Disentangling her arms, he stepped back, sub-consciously adopting his skeptical scowl and puffing out his chest; the way he did when he was about to question a perp.

She frowned, folding her arms, "Fine! If you want to know, I'll tell you Don...but only if you're going to listen as my boyfriend."

His jaw tightened a little and he raised an eyebrow, "Pardon?"

"You heard me. If you're going to be Don Flack, my boyfriend, then I'll talk but if you're going to be Don Flack, First Grade Detective and technically my superior officer, then this conversation stops now. Your choice buddy."

He pursed him lips then sighed, hopping up on the countertop beside her and muttering, "I've got a feeling I'm not going to like this."

She ran down the events of the night; providing as much information as she felt would satisfy him, but skipping over a few of the finer details. "So all in all, it's not a big deal; Stella's maybe just...in a bit deep. But dinner was good; a really yummy Greek place, we should go sometime." She added the last sentence enthusiastically, smiling and nodding.

He eyed her, "Nuh-uh, don't try and change the subject again Jess" before dropping his head, circling it back and forth and silently counting to ten.

"Remember Don; you're being my boyfriend just now, not a cop". Her tone was light but with subtle warning.

Sighing, he plopped down from the countertop to stand squarely in front of her. "I don't like it Jess."

She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with a raise of an eyebrow.

"You're both smart women and more than capable of looking after yourselves; but I don't like it. Travado's a numb nut, getting caught up with an Embassy is crazy and hooking Kolovos to get to Diakos is just damn right dangerous. As your _boyfriend_," he emphasized the word with a dry smile, "and therefore completely impartial in the area of law enforcement; I'd suggest that you leave well alone, suggest you tell your new friend to leave well alone and suggest that the whole thing shouts 'leave well alone!' And I say this as your _boyfriend _Jess, because I care."

Placing a tender hand on his cheek, she grinned, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Snorting a little, he couldn't stop himself from continuing, "But, as a cop..."

She silenced him by claiming his lips with hers, "Shut up Don, you were doing well"; her tongue meeting his making him, as it always did, forget his mind.


	14. Chapter 14

_  
Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry_

_You don't know how lovely you are_

_I had to find you, tell you I need you_

_Tell you I set you apart_

__

Coldplay - The Scientist

He'd noticed changes in her during the months they'd been together.

In the beginning she'd been distant and detached, non committal and at times even wary of his presence. She'd frowned if he called her 'baby' and shied away from his affection; when he called her 'beautiful' or took her hand. She'd invariably used a quip to break the moment if it got too intense and switched to French to speak her feelings. She'd kept her cards close to her chest.

Taking things slowly, he'd allowed the relationship to move at her pace. Gradually, French became a language used only to tease him or turn him on. She still joked, a lot, but tried to use words to express how she felt. She slipped her hand into his when they walked along the street and let him kiss her when he wanted. He could call her 'baby' and 'Jessica' without reproach, but 'beautiful' still caused her cheeks to flush.

He told her that he cared and how much he adored her, and although she didn't reciprocate aloud; he felt the passion in her lips as she kissed him and heard her whisper the words at night, when she thought he was asleep.

There were things he was glad that didn't change. She was still tough, savvy and independent; spoke her mind and, at times, had a fiery temper. Her penchant for Julie Andrews, trashy thrillers, loud music and dark chocolate remained firm. She still didn't hesitate to draw her service weapon or ball out a perp. She still beat him hands down at Monopoly and put in him his place. She could still render him speechless with a few flicks of her tongue, make him blush crimson in a second and take his breath away with one kiss.

:-:-:

As soon as he'd said the words, "...Look Jess, I'm sorry; I've got bigger things to worry about right now than Squad Room gossip", he'd regretted them.

The truth was he didn't care about Squad Room gossip or if it was common knowledge that they were dating; the truth was that he was more than happy for everyone to know she was his.

She'd driven the decision to keep things quiet, saying it just made sense for the Precinct; that although they weren't 'partners' he still outranked her, that she didn't want their credibility questioned or for things to get difficult.

While she remained, for the most part, professional on the clock, he'd grown less so; going out of his way to bring to her coffee, sneaking sly minutes with her, snagging a forkful of her salad lunch as he passed her desk and, when she'd objected, shrugging matter-of-factly "You don't like the walnuts anyway".

:-:-:

He called her from the bar, beer in hand and shouting a little over the noise of the game, as he waited for Mac, "Hey".

"Hey"

"You okay?"

"Uh-huh" her response was curt.

"Jess," he sighed, wishing she would just yell at him and let him off the hook, "I..."

She cut him off before he continued, "Look, I've got to go; got a warrant to run down". The line clicked dead and he slammed the bottle onto the table, cursing as the beer frothed over the top and into a messy puddle.

:-:-:

When he left the bar he called again but her cell switched to voicemail. As he slumped in his easy chair, untouched Jameson on the table, he keyed the speed dial button for a third time.

"Jess I'm sorry. I didn't mean things the way they sounded. But I don't care about gossip or if people know..."

He could hear her slow, controlled breaths.

"I know how important your career is though. I know that you hate the gossip and that IA gave you shit 'cause of me; I'm sorry for all of that. And I'm sorry that I hurt you."

She gave a little sigh but remained silent.

"Jess please? Talk to me?"

He was about to give up, to slam down the phone.

"You know Jess? I was quite content; being a cop, playing hoops, drinking beer...and then you came along. Sam used to tell me I had that 'grumpy mad dog thing' going on but now...now she says I actually look happy! Happy Jess, happy 'cause of you. Yeah, I screwed up by saying some stupid words. I'm sorry for being an idiot and I'm sorry for hurting you. But will you just talk to me?! What you're doing now is killing me."

Her silence continued as he mumbled shyly, "I can't help how I feel about you Jess..."

"Okay". Her voice was small, "Okay Don".

:-:-:

His eyes fixed on the late night TCM film, but his mind wandered; only being brought back to reality by a loud, aggressive banging. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he yawned widely. The banging that woke him sounded again; it was a familiar bang, the kind he did just before yelling "NYPD" and crashing through the door. Stumbling along the hallway he yanked at door, opening his mouth to shout out the instigator of the commotion, when he saw her standing there; her palm poised to bang again.

Her hair was loosely curled, the way it was when she let it dry naturally, and pinned back instead of the loose straight it'd been early in the evening. Maroon canvas low tops replaced the heels she'd been wearing in the Precinct, but the leather jacket remained.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, "Hey" then moving aside, "You okay?"

She nodded once, decisively, before stepping over the threshold; simultaneously kicking the door closed and balling her fist in the fabric of his shirt to yank his lips down to meet hers. The kiss was raw, spiraling out of control in a matter of seconds. Her hands pulled at the fabric, gliding across his taut muscles and pushing it up, forcing him to tug the shirt over his head. Pushing off her jacket, he tangled a hand in her hair and spanned the other across her tiny waist; momentarily losing his mind in the heat. Suddenly he checked himself, pulling back a little and breathing hard, "What's going on Jess?"

"I'm sorry."

As her lips crashed against his again, he tasted the need and hunger in her mouth. Surrendering, he slammed her against the door. She could smell his hair, his skin. As he nipped along her jaw, she dug her fingers into his shoulders; grappling for control.

Tumbling onto the bed, he feasted on her; with hands, then mouth, then tongue. Clothes fell to the ground as they were impatiently yanked and torn. As she rose above him, her mind screamed for more; the craving inside of her almost bordering on agony. Her hands streaked over the body she'd grown to know; the stubble on his cheek, the flex of his muscles and the shape of his scar. His eyes darkened to almost black as he drove into her, his hands possessively gripping her hips.

Then her hands came to his face, cupping his cheeks with such gentleness that he was thrown off balance. Brushing her lips to his, she whispered with pain rather than passion, "Don".

As his eyes met hers, blue to brown, she surrendered to him.

Rolling her, he took her in his arms; laying a sweet kiss in the hollow of her throat. She sighed as his lips and hands glided over her, both calming and arousing her.

Her eyes fluttered open, "Don, I'm sorry..."

Shaking his head he soothed, "There's nothing to be sorry for."

Again her hands cupped his cheeks, her words filled with urgency "I was stupid..."

"Shh." He laid a soft kiss over her heart, "Just stay with me Jess."

When his lips reclaimed hers it was with lingering tenderness. They watched each other as he slid into her and as they moved together, as if there was all the time in the world. He watched as her eyes blurred and as he took her hands in his. He watched as he pressed his lips to her shoulder, her throat and her lips.

"Stay with me Jess."

She stayed with him. She stayed with him as she sobbed him name, her hands in his and their bodies in unison. She stayed with him, as they lay shattered and then as they slept.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N:

i) I don't own anything, alluded to or directly mentioned, in this chapter or previous: Flack, Angell, CSI NY, Monopoly, Thin Mints etc

ii) Nor do I own any of the songs, except in 100% legal download format on my MP3

iii) Tequila _is _the devil's work; I just didn't think Angell looked like a G&T kind of gal

* * *

___Tequila_  
_It makes me happy_  
_Con Tequila it feels fine_  
_Con Tequila when the doors are opened_  
_And con Tequila when they're calling time_  
_That's the curse of Tequila_

_Terrorvision - Tequila_

They'd animatedly debated the Blue Flu, over wok roasted prawns and sesame beef on her sofa; amicably resolving to agree, to disagree.

She knew that although he whole heartedly agreed that the pay sucked, he was too dedicated to 'Fidelis ad Mortem' to leave the streets. And he knew that while she was as dedicated as he was, she had her old man and four brothers, all underpaid disgruntled cops, leaning on her.

It always saddened him a little, that while she was so strong willed and such a fierce free thinker, when it came to family she fell back in the little sister role with ease. He knew that she'd dropped out of college to travel and then joined the force all against their will but in some areas, seemed to just let her Father and brothers dominate her. Whenever he broached the subject, she'd scowl and grumble "Family; can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Don't start though Don... "

While only three Angells served with the NYPD, the remainder had loyally rallied around from their forces; planning a tactical family dinner in the city with attendance non negotiable.

He'd watched her dress, driven her across town to Sel de la Terre and sent her in with a kiss; promising to bring her breakfast in the morning and debrief the night.

:-:-:

Letting himself into her apartment, he was met only by silence; locking the door he called tentatively, "Jess?" Moving stealthily through the rooms he found her flopped on the bed, hair tangled and yellow striped cami pajamas crumpled, face burrowed in a pillow. He set down the tray of coffee and paper bag on the nightstand, crouching down and playfully tickling her back, "J?"

She lifted her head, croaking, "I'm dying."

Kicking off his shoes and stretching out on the bed beside her, he dropped a kiss on her head, chortling, "You've been practicing your sick voice for the Captain then."

Lifting her head again she groaned, "No really, I'm _dying_. It's always round about now that I remember why I don't go out with my brothers much." As he quirked an eyebrow in amusement, she widened her eyes and nodded gravely, "Tequila is the devil's work Don...the _devil's _work", before burrowing her head in the pillow again.

After an hour, a lot of OJ and a slightly queasy moment as she choked down a breakfast bagel, she was propped up against him, happily dozing. "So, what's the news from Team Angell?" he asked, lazily twisting his fingers through her now straightened hair. Although he'd hooted with laughter when he'd seen the Angell family camping photo, a grinning nine year old Jess in the middle and all proudly wearing their 'Team Angell' t-shirts, he'd been touched that her Father cared so deeply about unifying the family after their tragic loss.

She picked out a few of the more interesting snippets from the evening; an amusing case from the Boston PD, the impending arrival of a new niece or nephew and the family view point on the NYPD pay dispute. Casually adding, as if after thought, "Oh yeah, and you..."

He craned his neck to look her in the eye, "Me?"

Nestling further into his embrace she muttered, "Mmm, you."

They sat in contented silence until he prodded her, forcing her to continue. "It's the way they do it; sit there all stony faced, asking awkward questions. 'You have a boy drive you to dinner but you don't bring him in to meet us Jessica?'" she parroted, "A 'boy' for god sake?! It's like I'm sixteen again!" She sat up, sulkily folding her arms, "Honestly they're a nightmare Don. They know all about you Detective Donald J Flack; they'll have read your file, know where you live, know your credit score…that's what they do! Then Dad heads home and the boys ply me with drink until I crack...bloody tequila...It's SO unfair, I'm just a girl!"

He snickered at her whining, drawing her back into his arms, having worked out a long time ago that she cheerfully played the 'just a girl' card when it suited her; when she was comfortable on the sofa and wanted to him collect the pizza from the boy in the lobby or when she when was tired and just wanted to cuddle, but the rest of the time she'd kick his ass at merest hint of the implication.

Turning, she looked at him, jabbing him in the chest "I wouldn't be laughing quite so much if I were you Flack!"

Raising his eyebrows in amusement he leant forward, kissing her, "Oh no?!"

She groaned, settling back into his embrace, "No. I _may _have, inadvertently under the influence of tequila..."

"The devil's work, I know!" he teased.

"...agreed to bring you to family thing next weekend." she finished.

"A 'family thing' Jess? That doesn't sound so bad…I _am_ a very nice boy after all."

She twisted her head, 'Really?" As he nodded, she kissed him sweetly, "Thank you Don."

They lazed in comfortable silence, enjoying the simplicity of being together; his fingers trailing along her arm and their breathing synchronized.

Until she smirked, patting his arm, "You remember I have _four_ brothers don't you, older ones? Cop ones? And my old man's a cop too? It'll be a breeze though baby, they'll love a boy like you..."


	16. Chapter 16

_You can shine your shoes and wear a suit__  
You can comb your hair and look quite cute  
You can hide your face behind a smile  
One thing you can't hide, is when you're crippled inside_

_John Lennon - Crippled Inside_

Scars are part of the body's natural healing process; physical, emotional, mental or internal. But it's the unseen scars that are often the worst, the ones that need cared for the most.

Her body carried the silvery, flat reminders of an appendectomy in her twenties and a skiing accident in teens. Her soul tried to hide the suffering caused by the loss of her Mother and the cruelty she saw each day on the streets.

He too was scared, inside and out; the death of his Mother, the times he'd drawn his service weapon and shot to kill. Being caught in the office block bomb; having Mac Taylor's hands in his abdominal cavity then hours of surgery, weeks of hospitalization and months of recovery. Although his body had healed and was left with only a jagged pink scar from nipple to naval, the demons still festered inside; the flashbacks, the tortured dreams and the hesitation.

She didn't shy away from the ugly reminder; delicately trailing her finger along a parallel route and grinning slyly, "Hot...definitely hot", but holding him a little closer.

:-:-:

She'd been out of the city when the Wicks blast hit; enlisted on a joint operation between NYPD and the Quebec authorities.

Grateful for the invention of the Blackberry, they'd e-mailed back and forth since she left; trading photos of where they were at that moment (in the Italian deli near the Precinct waiting for a meatball sub and standing on a sun washed corner at Notre-Dame Basilica), exchanges of banter then sweet words and, very, explicit details of what each had planned for the other on their reunion.

On the night of the blast, she'd called; even though she was out of the city, she'd heard about the case through the grapevine and her heart had sunk a little. Although she didn't make mention of the case, simply asking how he was and telling him that she missed him, he knew her call was more than coincidence.

:-:-:

He lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She'd messed with his cell sometime ago, programming her entry with a dated rock tune that he couldn't quite place. Although the song initially drove him crazy, she had a habit of randomly humming it too and so, it eventually grew on him; plus he liked that he knew it was her calling before looking at the display.

"Bonsoir Détective Flack, comment ca-va?"

He laughed, his mood instantly lifted, "Bonsoir Detective Angell, back to being a little French frog then?!"

"Oui, une petite grenouille mignonne! Were you sleeping Don? I didn't wake you did I?"

Settling further under the covers he sighed, glad to hear her voice, "Nah, I was awake. How're things across the border?"

"Freezing," she groaned, "the harbor's still iced over and I've drunk way too much hot cocoa to compensate. Maybe we could come back up for a few days though, me and you; catch the end of the snow? You might like it, even with the 'plane trip? Good skiing, good bars..."

Grinning at her suggestion of going away together, he teased "Hot slopes, a hot girl _and_beer?! A guy can't ask for much more! It sounds really good Jess."

She laughed "Cool," before asking casually, "so, you okay Don?"

:-:-:

The bomb had affected him more than he'd imagined it could. While the physical scar didn't really bother him and he'd as good as put the long, tedious recovery process behind him; nothing prepared him for times that it cruelly consumed him. The way the day flooded into his dreams, both real memories and what his mind chose to fit into the gaps; waking him in blind panic, eyes glazed and furiously grabbing at the sheets.

He'd been humiliated, the night it'd happened when she lay in bed next to him; that it had been her soothing voice that roused him into consciousness and her gentle hands that held him close, "Ssh Don, you're safe; you're okay".

As he drew up to the Wicks scene he'd hesitated; heart pounding and blood pumping, the sound ringing in his ears. His hands had gripped the wheel; seeing himself back in the building, back in pain.

:-:-:

"Yeah, I'm fine. Tell me about you though! Are the Canadians playing nice?"

Sensing, that for the time being, he wasn't going to expand any further, she allowed the conversation to digress; teasing "Uh-huh, the guys are all being _very_ nice" and then laughing at his disapproving grumble. "It's a whole lot of sitting around really, waiting for the lowlife to turn up. It's sunny though, and very pretty."

Rolling her eyes at his response, "Interesting, but tell me about _you_...what'cha up to just now?", she indulged him by lazily explaining how she'd taken a little nap, then a shower and was currently dressed in just a towel; but her next task was to decide what underwear to select before dressing and heading out to cover the night shift surveillance.

"That black lacy stuff. Oo-la-la!" he enthusiastically advocated, growling dirtily before hastily withdrawing, "Actually, on second thoughts; if you're spending the night with another guy I want you wearing something nasty."

She snorted indignantly "I don't own any 'nasty' underwear Don" before smirking at his groaned "Don't I know it".

"Poor boy! I tell you what, if you're good; when I get back I'll see if I can find that black lacy stuff you seem to be fond off. That sound fair?!"

She entertained his interest in her lingerie for a few more minutes before regretfully telling him, "As much as I'm enjoying this conversation, I'm going to have to make tracks Don. I'm meant to be downstairs soon."

They parted, "Be careful Jess, and keep an eye on those Canadians...I don't trust them round you!" and "I'll be back on Monday; or sooner if we get lucky. Call me though Don, if you want to talk...about anything. You know I'm always here."

As she stood in front of the mirror, half dressed and blow drying the last few sections of her hair, she grinned mischievously; lifting her cell once more, clicking a few buttons then e-mailing with one hand as the other fastened her jeans.

Moments later a reply appeared: _Jeez, I said 'nasty'...not smokin'! Watch 'em!!!_

Then a few minutes later another: _I'll tell you about the pipe bomb when you're back. I know you're there and I'm glad you are. D xx_


	17. Chapter 17

___You don't know_

_Where we go_

_You don't know_

_That we're angels with dirty faces in the morning_

_Sugababes – Angels with Dirty Faces_

There was no disputing that being a cop had its drawbacks.

Shifts were erratic, pay was lousy, plans were made then cancelled when cases broke; at times, it was a thankless task.

And there was no disputing, that being a cop and dating a cop had just as many drawbacks.

Shifts clashed, dates were interrupted, arguments broke out over procedure and tactics; at times, it was struggle.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

:-:-:

Her desk was empty when he stormed into the Squad Room, but as the board reported her to be 'in', he started to search. The options were limited and so it wasn't hard to track her down to a small office off the files room. She was surrounded by a stack of case reports, absentmindedly doodling on the letter pad and looking thoroughly browned off.

Striding into the room, he calmly closed the door, watching her look up, her face instantly brightening "Hey!"

As his clenched fist hammered down onto the table, inches in front of her, his voice was dangerously low "What did I say Jess? What the fuck did I say?"

Flinching a little, her eyes widened.

He splayed his palms across table, leaning down to so he could glare directly at her and hissing "I played your game; I listened to your crazy Kolovos hook and I didn't take it further. But I told you to leave, the fuck, alone."

Her eyes narrowed, opening her mouth to challenge him, "Don..."

"No. Right now it's Flack and Angell, First Grade and Third Grade" he sneered, pointing a finger at her. "Have you any idea what the implications of your crusade are?! It's not some fucking Hardy Boy mystery Jess; my reputation's on the line."

She snorted, "Your reputation Flack?! So that's what this is all about? Quite frankly, I don't see how _your_ reputation comes into any of it."

His jaw clenched "_My_ reputation came into it the moment I heard from a buddy over at Jersey City PD that Diakos has just turned up with a couple of coins shoved on his eyes. _My_ reputation came into it when the coins sounded a hell of a lot like the ones that my Detective, my girlfriend, had a convinced felon forge for her. _My_ reputation came into when the coins sounded just like the ones that my Detective, my girlfriend, used to entrap a Greek national...the same Greek national who has now vanished from our radar!"

Pursing her lips, she drew back with a look of sheer disgust.

Straightening up he shook his head, giving her one last scowl before dragging over a chair and sitting across from her, his tone softening. "Christ Jess, could you not have just listened to me?! Sometimes I do know best; that extra little star on my chest sometimes means something."

She leant back in the chair, folding her arms across her chest. "Well, Sir," her voice was flat, "I'm glad to hear you have confidence and faith in your subordinates."

He sighed, wearily warning "Loose the attitude Jess, I'm not in the mood", before dropping his head into his hands.

"If you'd let me finish, I'd have told you that I'd spoken to the Captain; before I did anything." Although he didn't respond she continued, "Mm-huh. Told him about Travado and Kolovos; and for the record, I got my ass kicked for being a maverick. But, everything's above board; the coins at the Diakos scene will come back from the lab as kosher NYPD and your reputation doesn't even come into it, squeaky clean as always."

She watched him circle his head back and forth; an action he did when he was frustrated or pissed, upset or tired. "I didn't tell you, Flack, 'cause the Captain decided to keep it quiet; it was out of my hands. And I didn't tell you, Don, 'cause I knew how pissed you'd be."

Shaking his head he stood, walking around to her side and perching on the table, "You should have told me." She shrugged, "Perhaps, but it's done and dusted now; just got to smooth a few things over."

He raised an eyebrow, "Smooth a few things over?"

She nodded ruefully, "Yeah, one of the First Grades is pissed so guess I'm going to have to suck up for a couple of days. Shouldn't be hard too though; pour him a cup of coffee and take a bit of paperwork off his hands...and if that doesn't work, flashing him usually does the job."

Caught somewhere between amused and frustrated by her flippancy, all he could do was roll his eyes.

Taking no notice of his look she breezed on. "The boyfriend might be a bit more hard work though; I get the feeling he's more 'disappointed' than anything else," she grimaced at the word then sheepishly continued, "I really don't like disappointing him. Anyway, I'm thinking that dinner tonight, at the steak house I know he likes might be a start..."

She gave him an apologetic smile, mouthing 'Sorry Don', as he nodded; the start of a crooked grin creeping over his mouth.

He sighed and shook his head again, tugging at her long ponytail, "You're too smart and too brave for your own good sometimes Jess" before dropping a sweet kiss on forehead, muttering "And I only worry about you 'cause I care so much."


	18. Chapter 18

_What's the story morning glory?_

_Well_

_Need a little time to wake up, wake up_

_Well_

_What's the story morning glory?_

_Well _

_Need a little time to wake up, wake up_

_Oasis - Morning Glory_

It didn't take him long to discover that she wasn't a morning person.

She hit the snooze button on the alarm at least twice, pulling the sheets over her head and only surfacing when the Krups machine she'd programmed the previous night started gurgling. When she finally fell out bed, she hovered in front of the fridge with bleary eyes, loading milk into her coffee mug and invariably drinking orange juice straight from the carton.

It didn't take him long to work out that other than letting nature take its course or luring her with the promise of an eggs and bacon breakfast, rousing her _very _gently was the best course of action; drawing her into his arms then teasing her into consciousness with murmured words and soft lips. Nor did it take him long to work out that as soon as the caffeine hit and her blood sugar began to climb; she was back to her usual amenable and smiling self.

On that morning, after four days off together catching the end of the ski season, he'd decided not to take any chances. Silently slipping out of bed, dressing and heading to coffee bar on the corner for lattes; he'd added an extra shot of espresso to the drinks for luck. Arriving back at his apartment he'd been looking forward to sliding back into bed, coffee at the ready, to torment her with tongue and hands until she surrendered to him.

Finding her bright and awake and dressed only in his shirt was a definite bonus to his morning plan.

Being interrupted by a call from the Precinct with information from the tip line was however, definitely not part of his plan.

Stealing another last kiss, he begged "Meet me back here tonight? Pick up where we left off?"

:-:-:

She'd taken her time getting ready after he left; microwaving the cold latte and then gagging at the slightly odd resultant taste, poking through the kitchen cabinets to snag one of the frosted raspberry Pop-Tarts she knew he secretly loved and fondly browsing the books and DVDs and photographs in the living room.

Standing in the shower, she inhaled the scent of his shampoo but set it back on the shelf in favor of her tropical Hawaiian hair wash, the one she knew he groused about the cost of but added to his grocery store basket anyway.

Although they spent more time at her apartment, his place felt right too. She liked that they now shared their lives. That it was no longer just a change of clothes and a toothbrush that they kept at each other's place; that he bought the shampoo and milk she liked, that his spare key hung on her fob, that he let her drive his car and that she had both work and weekend clothes in his closet.

:-:-:

By the time he fumbled in his pocket for his apartment door key, he'd actually forgotten about asking her to meet him. He'd seen her leave the Precinct not long before he did, throwing her a grin and a "See you later", but had planned on showering and changing at home then showing up at her place with take-out.

As he pushed open the door, he saw her; perched on the table facing the door, legs crossed and idly flicking through a magazine. Looking up, she grinned mischievously, "Hello Don".

Throughout all the months they'd been together, she didn't fail to take his breath away each time he saw her, and didn't fail to completely and utterly floor him at least weekly.

Walking into his apartment and finding her, dressed in his shirt and _just_ his shirt; the same shirt she'd worn that morning and having it fastened by only one, _very_ strategic button, successfully floored him for that week.

Temporarily lost for words and rendered immobile; all he could do was stare, jaw dropping. Her grin broadened and eyebrow cocked. "Cat got your tongue Don?" she asked innocently.

She dropped onto the floor, sassily sashaying towards him before stopping, inches in front of him. Pressing one finger to his chest, she let it languidly trail a path down; over his firm, flat abs, over his belt buckle, until her hand could reach no further. Then stretching on tip toes, she whispered against his ear "I had a better idea for a wake-up call", before kissing him. Nipping at his bottom lip, she soothed sting with her tongue before parting his mouth.

When she finally released him, he swallowed, breathing hard and eyes raking over her, "Christ Jess".

Placing her palm flat on his chest she pushed, forcing him to start stepping backwards to the bedroom, "Don't make me cuff you again Detective..."

:-:-:

Much later he propped himself against the headboard and watched her, the open pizza box resting between them on the bed. She sat crossed legged, wrapped in the sheet and grinning broadly as she tipped the bottle against her lips, drinking down the pale lager. "You see Don?" she cocked a smug eyebrow, "I told you _my_ wake-up call was better."


	19. Chapter 19

A/N:

i) As always; I just play with Flack and Angell, I don't own them

ii) Anything that sounds familar (Krups, Blackberries etc) is not mine...but I've probably spent my hard earned cash on it

iii) Flack and Angell are a little flippant towards some aspects of life; they drink like fish, swear like troopers, rarely mind their Ps&Qs etc. Just because they do it doesn't make it right

iv) Thank you to everyone who has read and also who has reviewed. I've tried to reply to all the reviews; if I've forgotton, I'm really sorry

* * *

_Every night I just wanna go out, get out of my head  
Every day I dont want to get up, get out of my bed  
Every night I want to play out  
And every day I want to do ooh ooh oh oh  
But tonight I just want to stay in  
And be with you  
And be with you_

_Paul McCartney - Every Night_

He'd been raised in the arms of the church, a good Catholic; serving as an altar boy in his youth and continuing to attend weekly mass in adulthood. His faith kept him on an even keel. Confessing the times he'd shot to kill or failed to protect the city, brought him absolution.

She understood his faith. The Flack and Angell children had had similar upbringings; a cop for a Father, church each week and the formality of Catholic school. But her faith had waned over the years; the violence and horror she saw on the streets led her to doubt the existence of one almighty God. Some Wednesdays however, she went with him to St Joseph's; finding comfort and peace in the familiar words.

Although his life didn't come close to a holy or righteous one; happily drinking, partying, fornicating and profaning; he liked to think he was a least a decent person. While he was far from naive about the cruelty that some would inflict on others; the Abraham-Klaus case was too much even for him to comprehend.

He abhorred racism and prejudice; despised the likes of Michael Elgers. It riled him, it sickened him.

:-:-:

Between an overload of cases and being rattled yet again by Elgers, he hadn't seen much of Jess that week. A trip to the batting cages, where they'd both worked off frustrations by aggressively connecting bat to ball, and then the night in her bed, where the remainder of their tensions had been expelled, was the most they'd managed. They had dinner plans for the following evening but he had an overwhelming need to have her in his arms; to feel the soothing touch of her hands and hear her calming voice.

He stood in the Precinct corridor, waiting for the elevator; having decided that he'd find her, suck it up and hope she took pity on him. Staring at his feet, rocking back and forth on his heels, he heard the low whistle; it's intent unmistakable:

"Hot damn Angell!"

As his head snapped up, immediately filled with contempt for whoever just whistled at his girl; he realized the sight that caused the commotion.

Jess always looked good, but being more of a tomboy, she tended to opt for variations on jeans; tight dark denim that hugged her in all the right places with dangerously sexy tops for dates and more casual jeans with t-shirts or tops, or sometimes his shirts, the remainder of the time. Her feminine side came out in the lingerie she chose; satins and silks and laces, in colors and styles which blew his mind. The dresses that hung in her closet were, for the most part, reserved for special occasions.

She sassily strode along the corridor; hair falling in soft waves and fabric swishing around mid thigh. Dressed in an uncomplicated purple strappy dress, she carried an uncharacteristic purse in her hand and her eyes were smoky. As she fell into place beside him at the elevator, his eyes automatically raked up and down her figure, widening in approval.

"Detective Flack" she smiled, courteously, as the doors pinged open.

"Detective Angell" he nodded.

Watching her glide into the elevator, his jaw tightened as he saw the extent ofreason for the earlier whistle. Given that she wasn't going out with him, the dress was a little short for his liking but face on, suitably modest and unrevealing. The back however was cut daringly low and other than the crossed satin straps, her skin was bare until the skirt started at the base of her spine.

Grateful that the elevator was empty, he stood in front of her, arms folded, "New dress?" He knew his voice was filled with jealously and possessiveness and, from her amused raised eyebrow, he knew she was onto him.

"This old thing?" she did a little twirl before innocently asking, "You like?"

He shrugged petulantly, "You should be wearing a coat; it's cold outside."

Stifling a snort of laughter she cocked her head, "Perhaps, but I'm getting straight into a cab and then going straight inside, so I think I'll be okay. Thank you though."

He scowled, "You're not getting in a cab looking like that; I'll drive you."

"You don't know where I'm going Don!"

His scowl darkened until she laughed, kindly, stretching up to brush her lips to his as the elevator reached the basement parking. "I'm meeting Ali, and your sister, and Stella, and one of Stella's friends; Sam got tickets for some party at a swanky new club."

Scorning at his look of disproval, that his sister and a club were mentioned in the same sentence, she chided "Jeez Don, lighten up; she likes having fun. Going to a club doesn't mean getting loaded or falling off the wagon."

"Maybe not, but I've seen what you and Haggis Head are like on a night out..."

She'd introduced him to her friend Ali McGregor not long after the cracked rib incident and they'd forged an immediate alliance, based largely on childish name calling; 'Haggis Head' currently being his favorite insult. While his comment was wholly valid, she and Ali had particularly disgraced themselves only a few weeks ago, relying on him to pour them from the bar and into the back of his car; she never the less elbowed him firmly.

"Okay, okay; I know she's in safe hands. Promise me you'll keep an eye on her though?"

:-:-:

The car journey across town was quiet; she didn't set the stereo nearly as loudly as she usually did and contented herself with tracing an imaginary pattern across the top of his thigh. Drawing up to Metropolitan Bar, the rendezvous venue, she suggested "Want to come too? I know you don't like dancing but you could come in for a little bit?"

He shook his head, "To girl's night? No way, they'd eat me alive!"

Laughing, she pulled him towards her, pressing a kiss to his temple "Maybe just a bit! You sure? I like being able to show you off..."

Smiling at her words, he shook his head again "Nah, I'll let you parade me another night though."

"You okay Don?" her hand smoothing over his hair, "You're awfully quiet?"

He dropped his head onto her shoulder, selfishly delaying her as he relaxed under her touch, "Yeah, I'm fine; just not in the mood for partying."

She'd worked out very early on that Don Flack was just the same as the Angell men; 'fine' could mean everything from deliriously happy to verging on suicidal, and it was best to let talking about what ever bothered them, come at their pace.

Nodding, she gave him one last kiss before hopping out of the car, "I'll call you in the morning."

:-:-:

He was roused by a rustling at the foot of his bed and, simultaneously reaching for his service weapon on the nightstand and flicking on the light, he sat up; surprised but delighted to see her.

"Christ Don! Don't do that!"

Already barefoot, she was stepping out of the dress; leaving herself naked and exposed except for a very small seamless nude thong. "Give me your t-shirt."

"Your t-shirt Don, please?" she repeated after a few seconds of his appreciative stare.

Obediently he tugged the t-shirt over his head and tossed it to her, smiling as she snuggled against the fabric after pulling it on, "Cozy!"

As she crawled into bed, spooning herself against the contours of his body, he took her wrist in his hand; following the path of the tattoo with his lips. Undoing her watch, he peered at the face before setting it beside his, "It's early Jess, everything okay?"

Nestling herself closer to his body she nodded, "Yeah, Sam had had enough and it turned out I wasn't quite as much in the mood as I thought, so we just headed off; I think the other three are in for a wild night though."

She wriggled a little, the way she always did to get comfortable, before taking his hand in hers. "Why didn't you tell me about Elgers and Abraham-Klaus?" Bringing each of his fingertips to her lips, she kissed them sweetly, "I'd have stayed home with you tonight you know..."

Grunting and snorting a little, he muttered; 'Stella' and 'big mouth' and 'not a baby' being the only clear words.

Turning in his arms to face him, she frowned "I know you're not a baby. But it's okay that you're not always the tough guy Don."

He snorted again, mumbling incoherently.

Instead of arguing she held him close, brushing her lips to his forehead and softly rubbing circles on his back, the way she knew he liked, until he sighed. "I liked your dress; perhaps you'll wear it for me? For dinner tomorrow?"

Lazily stretching and shifting so her body ran along the length of his, the two melding together, she grinned "I bought two new dresses actually, I think you'll like the other one a whole lot more"; nodding knowingly until he groaned, claiming her lips.

* * *

A/N 2:

i) I've spent the past month travelling back and forth between the east and west coast for work, consequently I've had _a lot _time on my hands to write. Now that I'm back home with my own Flack (funnier and better looking but can't cook anything beyond 'breakfast' either) the updates are going to be a wee bit slower. They're written, it'll just take a bit longer to upload them.

ii) Updates might be a bit faster however if anyone can impart the secret of getting Word to OpenOffice to without yelling and threatening my laptop with certain death (and I'll kick in coffee and cake to sweeten the deal!).


	20. Chapter 20

_Now I must say goodbye_

_Keep telling myself 'now don't you cry'_

_But I'm here where I belong_

_I'll see you soon, it won't be long_

_Amy McDonald - The Road to Home_

A few years after losing her Mother, she'd found a book in the school library that talked of death; suggesting that your life flashed before you and there was a bright tunnel of light. For a long time it'd plagued her thoughts, trying to determine what snippets of life would have flashed through her Mother's mind as the truck slammed into their car; whether it would have been memories of her children, or of her own childhood. She'd tried also to imagine what thoughts and memories might flash through her own mind on death.

As she grew older the thoughts and concerns dissipated; hoping it was something that she wouldn't experience until she was old and grey, when she had children and grandchildren and a lifetime of happiness to fill her memories.

:-:-:

Being shot didn't hurt as much as she expected; a searing pain that was over in an instant. The cold that came next was the agony that lasted.

As she lay on the floor of the diner, hearing the shouts, the chill crept through her toes and fingers. She remembered the summer her brothers played Little League; 'you're too young' and 'you're just a girl' was what they taunted her with from the field. The following year she'd played too, hitting a home run in her first game.

As he sat with her in the car, sobbing her name, the chill swept through her limbs. She remembered the winter she'd broken her leg; the first outing of the ski season sidelining her for the whole winter. Trying to push the cold from her mind, she thought of standing in the cupola of St Peter's Basilica, the sun searing her shoulders.

As she lay on the gurney, hearing the medics around her, the chill consumed her. She fought hard to remember riding the Circle Line with him.

:-:-:

She sat crossed legged on the sofa, dressed in his worn NYPD t-shirt and eating the breakfast he'd made; eggs over easy and crispy turkey bacon, just the way she liked.

"But the Circle Line's for tourists...and kids...and it's cold! That's how you want to spend your one day off Jess?!" he frowned, a little incredulously.

"But I like ferry boats, and I like the view of the city." She widened her chocolate brown eyes, nibbling her bottom lip a little, "Please Don?"

They both knew it was a look he couldn't resist and he growled in despair, "That's not fair, you know I can't say no when you do that!"

She grinned deviously, leaning to lick a dribble of the syrup he insisted on pouring on his bacon from the corner of his mouth, and then kissing him deeply. "I know; but you get to choose something for us to do today as well."

He contemplated her bargaining for a split second, before pulling the plate from her hand and scooping her into his arms. Her shrieks of laughter quelled as he dumped her on the bed, peeling the t-shirt from her body and claiming her lips.

Pausing above her, ignoring her whimper of complaint, he drank her in, "Christ Jess, you're beautiful. I..." Her lips silenced him and his intended words were forgotten as he drove into her, instead streaming profanities of worship and adulation.

:-:-:

She teased him as they stood on empty deck, the air chilling their bodies and the breeze whipping through the ends of her hair. "You look very pleased with yourself Donald, did you do something clever this morning?!"

Pulling her flush against him, he wrapped his arms around her and tenderly tugged her hat a little lower on her ears before laughing, dirtily, against the knitted wool, "I might have done Jessica..."

They gazed in awe as they glided along the skyline of the city they served; sun shimmering on high rise windows and lost in their own private world.

As they swept back towards the Seaport, staring out across the Hudson, she snuck into his arms once more. Brushing her icy nose against his before burrowing her face into the crook of his neck, she hugged him tightly. She held him silently until they passed the Statue of Liberty, then breathed "Je t'aime...I love you Don."

His arms tightened around her, sighing and heart soaring, and as Brooklyn came clearly into view whispered fiercely "I love you too Jess."

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

* * *

_There's never been so much at stake_  
_I serve my head up on a plate_  
_It's only comfort, calling late_  
_'Cos there's nothing else to do_  
_Every me and every you_

_Placebo - Every Me Every You_

It'd been three months since she died; three months since he'd shot a man in cold blood.

The summer had almost ended and days were beginning to cool once more. Her desk had been cleared and new face sat in her chair. Her scent had long since faded.

Her jacket still hung in his closet; the shampoo she'd used still sat on the shelf in his shower. The elastic bands and pins she'd used in her hair still showed up in the oddest places around his apartment and car, although he just smiled and kept them where they lay. He still heard her laugh and saw her smile; everywhere.

:-:-:

He twisted open a beer as he rummaged in the fridge, debating whether to actually try to cook or settle back into the bad habit of ordering take-out. The fridge was reasonably well stocked and his culinary skills now extended a little beyond breakfast.

His musings were interrupted by a knock on the door and frowning, as he didn't expect a visitor, padded across the room.

Cliff Angell stood in the doorway; greyer and older than he'd looked on their first meeting at the Angell family pot luck lunch but better than the day he'd returned her badge. Standing aside, he ushered him into the apartment, watching as he set a cardboard box on the table.

After exchanging awkward pleasantries and having the offer of a drink declined, he perched on the edge of his easy chair; expecting the Detective Sergeant to do likewise. Instead the man paced for a few moments before settling at the window, staring vacantly to the street beyond.

"I remember the day Jessica was born like it was yesterday, the first moment I held her in my arms. I love my boys, but a girl is different..." He paused, a smile curling the corner of his lips. "She was always headstrong, '...when I grow up, I'm going to be a cop; just like you Daddy' she used to tell me. After her Mother died I bullied her into a fancy school, then college; I wanted something more for her, something better for her. But my Jess," he laughed ruefully, "she stuck to her guns."

He felt the lump in throat and the familiar sting in his eye, the choice of phrase unfortunate given the outcome.

The older officer frowned, "I didn't like that she grew up. That she no longer needed me to tie her sneakers or tuck her in at night. That she went off into to the world. I didn't like my little Jessie became woman; that I wasn't the only man in her life anymore."

He smiled, remembering the time he'd tested the name 'Jessie'. She'd scowled, shaking her head firmly, "No way buddy; it's Jess or Jessica or Angell, at a push I can probably even run with J or Sici, but it's never _ever_ Jessie." Her expression had then softened into a fond little smile, "Only my Dad gets Jessie."

"You were good for her Don."

He felt his cheeks flush at the candid words but her Father just nodded, smiling.

"I saw the way her face lit up when she mentioned you, the changes in her. My little girl didn't suffer fools gladly; four brothers taught her that, but it was clear where you came in her life. I'm glad she had you and I'll always be grateful that you were there with her..." he trailed off but the intent was clear. "Thank you."

He shrugged a little, unsure what words would be right.

"We finally cleared her apartment...the box; I think she'd have liked you to have the things." With a wistful smile, then nod he began to move towards the door before pausing and retracing his steps. Embracing the younger man, he instructed, "Come and see me some time Don."

"I'd like that."

:-:-:

He allowed the box to sit, unopened, on the table for few days, tormenting him and causing his heart to ache before moving it to the bedroom. Carefully stowing it under what had become _her _nightstand and setting the low weaved basket he'd bought for her things on top.

:-:-:

She'd been a runner, regular four miles routes every couple of days. Although he wasn't fond of running, he was more than fond of her, and joining her meant he got to see even more of her. With her gone, it was routine that he found solace in; his feet almost finding their way along the streets by themselves.

After kicking his running shoes into the closet, he collapsed onto the bed on his stomach, peering underneath and raising a shocked eyebrow at the dust that had accumulated. Then the box caught his eye.

Stretching under the nightstand he drew out the stack; the cardboard storage box and basket on top. He'd bought the baskets after the umpteenth argument that he'd 'moved' her watch; smugly demonstrating, after finding her watch under the bed, that it could contain all her accoutrements and reduce the likelihood of them being 'misplaced'. Fondly he poked through the contents; flicking through the half-read paperback, fingered the long drop silver earrings and rubbing a dab of the hand cream into the back of his hand, inhaling the scent.

Letting out a long sigh, he lifted the lift of the box her Father had brought:

The French Monopoly set; the one that'd she'd beaten him with so many times.

The faded Rangers cap; the one she'd taken from his closet and claimed as her own.

The framed photograph; the one that'd stood on her dresser of them grinning crazily, Manhattan skyline in the background and their cheeks flushed from the cold.

The well worn copy of Le Comte de Monte-Cristo; the one she'd been reading to him in the evenings as they lay in bed.

The iPod she wore when she ran; the one he'd bought for her, just because he knew she wanted it.

He delicately ran his fingers across each item, tracing the same paths as her fingers had once made. Feeling the lump in his throat and the tears prick in eyes, he rolled onto his back; breathing deeply, determined not to crumble (again).

Turning the iPod over in his hand a few times, he sighed. Letting his head drop back over the edge of the bed, he fumbled with the ear buds before closing his eyes and thumbing the play button.

_All alone in space and time_

_There's nothing here but what here's mine_

_Something borrowed, something blue_

_Every me and every you_

The song that'd played in the car the night they'd fought after the Cabbie Killer. The song that she'd hummed so many times. The song she'd programmed against her entry in his cell. The song she'd listened to last. _Every Me Every You_.


End file.
